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A WINTER . 
HOLIDAY IN 
PORTUGAL . 



WINTER HOLIDAY 
IN PORTUGAL 



CAPTAIN B: GRANVILLE BAKER 

AUTHOR OF 

"THE WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE," "THE DANUBE WITH PEN AND PENCIL," ETC. 



WITH A COLOURED FRONTISPIECE, MAP, AND 
40 ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR 



NEW YORK 

JAMES POTT & COMPANY 

7 



MOUNT PLSASA^**^ * 



PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 



TRANSFER 
D. O. PUBLIC LIBKAfll 
SflPT. 10, 1940 



THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 

CM 

rag • 

TO A 

LADY, FAIR AND GRACIOUS 

<C WHO LIVES IN LISBON 



CONTENTS 



INTRODUCTION 

The meaning of the word " holiday " — The Holiday-maker 
introduces himself and explains his purpose — A sketch of the history 
of Portugal, and an invitation to join the Holiday-maker, pp. 1 3-1 8 

CHAPTER I 

On the habit of some readers to skip the Introduction, owing to 
which the Holiday-maker feels obliged to introduce himself again — 
He then proceeds to relate the first events of his holiday, his depar- 
ture from London, the sailing from Liverpool, with remarks on 
many subjects — Havre — The Norman bank messenger, and a visit 
to Rouen — The coast of Spain and the British fleet leaving Arrosa 
Bay — Vigo pp. 19-30 

CHAPTER II 

The coast of Portugal, Vianna do Castello and the " Happy 
Valley " — The country between Vianna do Castello and Oporto, 
with historical data — The story of Oporto — Some remarks con- 
cerning Ulysses and his visit to the Tagus — The mouth of the 
Tagus . . . pp. 31-50 

CHAPTER III 

Discusses the comforts of modern travel — The Holiday-maker 
lands at Lisbon and goes to the Hotel Braganga — He discourses on 
the sights seen by the way, and gives a reason for being late for 
church — The Lisbon trams — Hotel Braganga and the view from its 
upper story — Reflections on the history of Lisbon — On the first 

7 



8 



Contents 



stroll round the town the Holiday-maker passes down the Rua do 
Arsenal to Black Horse Square — Then visits the Casa das Bicos and 
gives a choice of legends concerning it — The Artillery Museum 
comes in for a share of attention, and interesting facts are recounted 
concerning the Cathedral — Castello S. Jorge tells of Martin Moniz, 
and others who made up its history — S. Vincente de Fora and the 
work of Nunez Goncal vez — The last resting-place of Dom Carlos. 

PP. 53-75 

CHAPTER IV 

Lisbon in its aspect as city of business and pleasure, and the 
various types who follow one or the other pursuit — A word about 
some Lisbon theatres and their audiences, restaurants and their 
frequenters, as well as other places of amusement and recreation — 
The Holiday-maker becomes acquainted with some of Portugal's 
army, and then indulges in words of wisdom on several matters that 
concern everybody — A short but quite learned discourse on Portu- 
guese art, especially " Azuleja," lightened by a song — Portuguese 
lovers ......... pp. 76-95 



CHAPTER V 

Deals with the traffic in the streets of Lisbon, and gives due 
prominence to funeral processions — Then the Holiday-maker breaks 
away towards Belem and visits the royal coaches — He has much 
useful and interesting information to impart on the subject of the 
monastery of S. Jeronymos at Belem — Then follows the story of 
Vasco da Gama's voyage to India, with frequent invocations to 
Camoes, the great poet of Lusitania .... pp. 96-121 



CHAPTER VI 

A train journey to Cascaes with frequent incursions into the 
history of Portugal — Mont Estoril, its beauty and comforts ; Cascaes 
and bits of history — The Bocco do Inferno — The Serra of Cintra and 
the Cork Convent — Cintra, its history, especially the little bit of 
gossip about Dom Joao I. and the Court lady — Other stories, 
equally credible, perhaps more creditable — Tales of happy days 
spent at Cintra, tales of awful misery ; black days in the history 
of Portugal, and all connected with Cintra and its royal palace — 
The palace of the Pena is mentioned — Then the Holiday-maker re- 



Contents 



9 



turns to Lisbon by rail, visiting places of interest by the way, Queluz- 
Bellas, with its royal palace, Bemfica with its memories of stout 
Dom Joao de Castro, till the train stops at the Rocio station. 

pp. 122-161 

CHAPTER VII 

Makes mention of a most laudable institution, " Sociedade Pro- 
paganda de Portugal," and S. Mendonza e Costa's useful Manual — 
Another train journey, with historical information — Thomar and 
its glorious chapel — A dissertation on various ancient orders of 
knighthood ; the story of the Knights Templars and their successors 
at Thomar, the Knights of the Order of Christ . . pp. 162-186 

CHAPTER VIII 

The castles of Portugal and their original purpose — Obidos and 
its ruined castle, its art treasures, and tales of long ago — A visit to a 
Portuguese " quinta " — Padre Antonio — The heights of Roliga — 
The Church of Nosso Senhore da Pedra — Caldas da Rainha and the 
story of Dom Fuas — From Vallado to Alcobaca — The story of 
Alcobaca, and the beauties of its monastery — Leiria and its history 
— Batalha and its glorious abbey .... pp. 187-222 

CHAPTER IX 

The left bank of the Tagus — Cacilhas and the road to Trafaria 
through Alma da — The story of Frei Luiz de Souza — Alfeite, and an 
adventure which befell the Holiday-maker — Barreiro — The Serra 
d'Arrabida and the monastery of Bom Jesus — From Azeitao to 
Bacalhoa with its ruined palace — Setubal and Troia — Palmella and 
the story of the Knights of St. Jago . . . pp. 225-253 

CHAPTER X 

The road from Setubal to the south — Alcacer do Sal and its 
history — S. Thiago de Cacem with its windmill outposts — Several 
authorities on the history of S. Thiago de Cacem, and much informa- 
tion about Bataca, the widow lady — Some correspondence between 
the city elders and some British naval officers during the French 
occupation of Portugal — Sines and its pretty bay, Vasco da Gama's 
birthplace — Some reflections on the fact that a change, even of 
government, is not always a change for the better . pp. 254-274 



IO 



Contents 



CHAPTER XI 

The Holiday-maker visits a friend in the Alemtejo, and becomes 
acquainted with many delightful people — Shrove-Tuesday at Boa 
Fe — The priest and other dignitaries of the parish — Evora and its 
monuments — The story of Geraldo sem Pavor — Evoramonte and the 
distant view ....... pp. 277-303 

CHAPTER XII 

The Holiday-maker prepares to leave Portugal, but first visits 
Coimbra and tells of romantic and historic happenings on the banks 
of the Mondego — The sad story of Ignez de Castro — " Town and 
Gown " at Coimbra — Bussaco and its sacred forest — The journey 
northward to Oporto ...... pp. 304-320 



INDEX 



pp. 321-324 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



S. THIAGO DE CACEM ..... 
HARFLEUR CHURCH 


rronhspiece 

PAOB 

. 25 


THE GATEWAY OF A RUINED MONASTERY 


. 25 


OPORTO, FROM THE HIGH-LEVEL BRIDGE 


- 35 


THE FORT, CASCAES 


. 41 


LISBON, IN THE OLD QUARTER 


. 5i 


A COLUMN IN THE CHURCH OF BELEM . 


. 51 


BELEM, THE CHURCH OF S. JERONYMOS . 


. 61 


THE SANDS AT MONT ESTORIL 


. . 67 


THE SERRA OF CINTRA, FROM CASCAES FORT . 


• 77 


LEIRIA 


. . 87 


CASCAES BAY 


. . 87 


A VILLA AT CASCAES 


. 97 


THE SERRA OF CINTRA FROM MARINHA . 


. 103 


CINTRA, THE CORK CONVENT .... 


. 113 


A COURTYARD IN THE PALACE OF CINTRA 


. 119 


CINTRA, " A PEN A " 


. 129 


THOMAR FROM THE RIVER .... 


. 139 


THE KEEP OF OBIDOS CASTLE 


. 145 


ENTRANCE TO CASTLE OF THOMAR . 


. 145 


THE CHURCH OF THE ORDER OF CHRIST, THOMAR 


• i55 



II 



12 List of Illustrations 

PAGE 

OBIDOS . . 165 

BATALHA 171 

LISBON SEEN FROM ALFEITE l8l 

THE LAKE OF BACALHOA 191 

COIMBRA, RUINS OF SANTA CLARA I9I 

THE SERRA D'ARRABIDA FROM SETUBAL . . . -197 

ENTRANCE TO PALMELLA CASTLE 207 

ALCACER DO SAL . . . . . . . 217 

THE WINDMILL OUTPOSTS OF S. THIAGO DE CACEM . . 223 

SINES 233 

SINES, NOSSA SENHORA DAS SALVAS .... 243 

THE CARPENTER, THE REGEDOR, THE CHARCOAL-BURNER . 249 

THE TOWN HOUSE OF A PORTUGUESE NOBLE, EVORA . 249 

EVORA, S. BRAZ 259 

EVORA, THE ROMAN TEMPLE AND THE CATHEDRAL . .269 

THE CASTLE OF EVORAMONTE 275 

INSIDE THE KEEP OF EVORAMONTE .... 285 

GATE OF COIMBRA, BUSSACO 295 

THE BANKS OF THE DOURO AT OPORTO .... 301 

LISBON, ST. GEORGE'S CEMETERY 311 



INTRODUCTION 



EW words in our language are so liable to mis- 



interpretation as the term " holiday." The 
general conception of " holiday " suggests a space 
of time, anything beyond twenty-four hours, which is 
devoted to purposes other than " the trivial round, the 
common task." This interpretation contains only part 
of the truth — a holiday is not merely a space in time, 
it is, above all, a state of mind. Holiday-making is an 
art, not only a recreation — an art, albeit, which exists 
only by virtue of the spirit of recreation, of the desire to 
see beautiful things and endeavour to appreciate them, 
of the capacity for entering into the feelings of ones 
fellow-men, not judging them by one's own standard. 

No doubt a real philosopher would discourse 
most learnedly and at great length on the theoretical 
aspect of holiday-making. Such deep reflections are 
beyond the power of the author, who begs leave to 
introduce himself as a simple but whole-hearted 
Holiday-maker. 

Choice of scene must be left to the Holiday-maker, 
and he has chosen to leave the lowering winter skies 




14 Introduction 

of his native land for a serener clime, for a country 
in which holiday-making entails no effort, where 
climate and all other conditions conduce to the present 
purpose. 

The Holiday-maker would take his readers to a 
land of delight, would tell them by words and in 
pictures of what he has heard and seen in a country 
where Nature is generous, under blue skies that are 
mirrored by blue summer seas, to Portugal — a 
country but little visited, yet so well worth knowing, 
a country where Flora's fair children bloom in sweet 
profusion, where Ceres is bountiful and supplies the 
wants of a people as lovable as their country is 
lovely. 

A land of great historic interest, too, is Portugal, 
that strip of country washed on the west and south 
by the ocean which had no terrors for the bold ex- 
plorers who made their country great and glorious — 
a land that harboured many different races of man- 
kind, who met with varied fortunes, and finally merged 
into one Portuguese nation. 

The Iberians were the first known inhabitants of 
this country. Whence they came is uncertain ; certain 
it is that the Romans found them here, and found 
them troublesome. Celts lived in this country, 
Phoenicians and Carthaginians visited it and have 
left traces here and there. The Romans came and 
conquered fair Lusitania — mighty monuments still tell 



Introduction 1 5 

of that strong race ; and when the Teuton Barbarians 
came out of the north and east, and the power of 
Rome crumbled away, the language remained and 
formed the basis of that tongue which is heard at 
its best in Camoes' soul-stirring epics. The Bar- 
barians, Goths, and Suevi made but a slight im- 
pression on the people of Lusitania during their short 
day ; their influence lingers perhaps in the hardy 
men of mountainous Northern Portugal. For a space 
the Visigoths were predominant, and one of their 
kings, Leovegilde, ruled over the whole Peninsula. 
Christianity had been introduced by Reccarede, Leove- 
gilde's successor ; but in the year 711 fanatic hordes 
came from the east and south, crossed over from 
conquered Northern Africa, and brought almost the 
whole peninsula under the sway of Star and Crescent. 
The Christian Visigoths were driven into the moun- 
tains of Asturias, where they gathered strength for 
continued strife against the Moors. A great warrior, 
Pelagius, was proclaimed King of the Visigoths, and 
he commenced a struggle which lasted for centuries, 
and ended in the expulsion of the Moslem from Spain 
and Portugal. 

Endless legends are woven about the obscure 
history of those early days, tales of Charlemagne and 
his Paladins, of Roland the Brave and his last fight 
in Roncesvalles. Roland was securing the retreat 
of the Frankish army. He was mortally wounded 



1 6 Introduction 

when, as last survivor (for he had slain all his enemies), 
he wound the horn, which none but he had strength 
to do. Charlemagne hurried to the warrior's side, 
but arrived too late. 

From out the mist of legend, history emerged 
and drew definite outlines. Out of the small legendary 
kingdom of Asturias arose the kingdom of Leon, 
increased in size by conquest of territory from the 
Moors. 

Portugal was then but a county, forming part of 
the kingdom of Leon ; it was only a small portion 
of what is now known under that name. The name 
derives from the strip of country about Oporto, for 
here was in earliest days a castle called Calle. Round 
this castle grew up a township, by the river-side, and 
hither ships sailed up with merchandise, so the town 
came to be called Portus Calle. This strip of land 
extended, became the County Portucaliensis, an in- 
tegral part of the kingdom of Leon. The name 
then spread to the whole country, and thus Portugal 
came into existence, carved, piece by piece, out of the 
territory held by the Moors. 

The struggle with the Moors brought many ad- 
venturers into the country. One of these, Count 
Henry of Burgundy, married Theresa, daughter of 
Affonso VI., King of Leon. He was granted the 
county of Guimaraes, to the north of Oporto, and the 
county Portucaliensis. From here he extended his 



Introduction 1 7 

power, and his son, Affonso Henriques, became king 
and established a dynasty. Under his successors 
Portugal continued to grow, bravery and devotion 
led to further conquests, the Portuguese nation 
evolved itself, crystallised into strongly defined political 
identity, and prepared itself for yet greater achieve- 
ments. These happened after the last Moor had 
been driven out of the country. Then the sons of 
Portugal looked out over the ocean, remembering 
legends and reports of far distant lands, countries 
of enormous wealth, the conquest of which would 
satisfy warlike ambition and would carry the Cross 
to " those who yet walked in darkness." So strong, 
bold men set forth on desperate ventures, of which 
the Holiday-maker will tell you. Then Portugal 
rose to high estate, and the world went very well 
for a time. But trouble ensued. Dom Sebastiao, 
the chivalrous but fantastic young king, perished with 
most of his followers at the battle of El Kasr-el-Kebir, 
in a vain attempt at the conquest of Morocco. His 
successor reigned but a short time over a nation 
dispirited and in great straits, so Philip of Spain 
became king over Portugal. Three Philips followed 
each other before Dom Joao IV., Duke of Braganga, 
was called to the throne by his people, and re-estab- 
lished an independent kingdom. 

But the glory had departed, and Portugal became 
a prey to internal strife or external interference. 

2 



1 8 Introduction 

Napoleon's armies infested the country and left de- 
solation in their wake, civil war came to retard pro- 
gress ; so Portugal dropped behind in the race, and 
no longer belongs to the great Powers of the world. 

But the country is fair to see, from the stern 
mountains of the north, through the smiling, fertile 
fields of Estremadura, the broad lands of Alemtejo, 
down to the sun-baked plains and rocky coast of 
Algarve. Amid beautiful scenery stand monuments 
of Portugal's great history — frowning castles, mon- 
asteries, ruined but yet beautiful temples and shrines, 
hoary with age. There are broad rivers and rippling 
rivulets, fields and forests, and over all the blue sky 
of Portugal. So come and make high holiday in 
this delightful land. The Holiday-maker will show 
you what little he knows of this fair country and 
its people, both of which he has learned to love. If 
he succeed but in arousing a passing interest in 
that which has delighted him, his holiday has not 
been in vain. 



A WINTER HOLIDAY 
IN PORTUGAL 



CHAPTER I 

MOST readers skip the Introductions or Prefaces 
to the books they are pleased to peruse ; 
they prefer to plunge in medias res, if possible. There 
are even cases where the end of the story is looked 
for at once, in order to ascertain whether everything 
ends happily. This happens with novels, as a rule, 
but cannot apply to the present work. 

For the benefit of those who have not read the 
Introduction, the Holiday-maker therefore again asks 
leave to introduce himself, and to reiterate his 
purpose. 

The title of this book itself conveys the first 
information necessary — namely, that the Holiday-, 
maker has been pursuing his favourite pastime in 
Portugal. Let him proceed further, and, beginning 
at the very outset, pursue his way through reminis- 
cences of a delightful holiday. 

The holiday began with the jingling of bells, as a 
" hansom " conveyed the Holiday-maker to Euston 

19 



20 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

station. A grey, unfriendly London morning sharp- 
ened the desire for a glimpse of blue skies and blue 
seas ; the sight of sombre figures hurrying to their 
work added to the prospective pleasure of a holiday — 
that delicious sense of having plenty of time on 
hand, and no more serious task than that of thorough 
enjoyment at great leisure. 

So it was in thoroughly appropriate mood that the 
Holiday-maker boarded the big ship which was to 
take him away from grey skies into the sunshine. 

The transition was not to be immediate ; this would 
possibly spoil the effect. No ; you pass by degrees 
into a serener atmosphere. Liverpool, with its intense 
activity, merges into a haze, the stately Tower 
Buildings lose their imposing stature as the good ship 
ploughs through the tumbling seas. Here is colour 
already — a faint golden haze sets off the masses of the 
Welsh mountains ; the colour moves to westward, and 
shows the coast of Ireland silhouetted against the 
evening sky, a feeble attempt at sunset, yet a suggestion 
of colour. Then night falls, the mystery of a night at 
sea, and the choppy waves of St. George's Channel 
recall other days — days when small ships sailed 
smoothly over the waters or were tossed about at 
the mercy of the waves. From out of those creeks 
on the coast of Wales smart little craft dashed out 
to overhaul the full-bellied merchantmen that stag- 
gered back to the Mersey under full sail, heavy-laden 



St George's Channel 21 

with goods from lands of sunshine and splendour. 
For so many centuries no one was quite safe on those 
waters. 1 

But all this has been changed for many a day. Big 
liners make their stately way down channel, hundreds 
of lights from their portholes call forth fitful reflections 
in the waters, the sound of music drowns the voice 
of the waves and the wind from over the Western 
Ocean, as holiday-makers and others are borne out- 
wards over the seas. 

Morning dawns in grey and misty, and the mighty 
Atlantic swell heaves and surges in heavy masses 
against Land's End, and foams round the Lizard. 
Fitful gleams of sunshine glint silver on the dancing 
waters, or light for a moment on the sails of some 
small craft, and the big ship bears onward, unmoved. 

Havre is not in friendly mood, is distinctly 
reserved, and wrapped in a mist as moist and 
penetrating as any to be met with in Scotland. 
The big ship carefully feels her way through the 
mist, is guided by devious ways into dock, and finally 
rests majestically for a day or two while men go 
about their business or pleasure. The business adds 
to the good ship's responsibilities, bales and cases of 
all manner of merchandise moving out from the quai 
to vanish inside capacious holds. The Holiday-maker 

1 Even Strafford, Charles I.'s Viceroy in Ireland, suffered at the hands 
of the gentry who sailed these craft, for his plate and linen were seized 
by a ship appropriately named The Pickpocket of Dover. 



22 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

is interested in such matters, but not to the extent 
of inquiring into the nature and destination of those 
bales and cases ; rather would he weave romance 
around them, as they loom through the mist and 
vanish, to reappear in some distant land for the 
use of some stranger people. 

But all around are places of great interest. 
Across the broad estuary of the Seine lies Honfleur, 
an historic spot, and one which has its bearing on 
English history, for near there, hidden among trees, 
covered over with kindly ivy, is the ruined abbey 
of St. Arnoud, where, it is said, Harold the Saxon 
swore by the bones of the saint who lies buried there 
to renounce the throne of England in favour of his 
host, perchance jailer, William, Duke of Normandy. 
Then again, on the north bank of the river, and 
within an easy walk, lies Harfleur, with the graceful 
spire of its church, built by an Englishman, reflected 
in the sluggish waters of a little river. Here are 
faint traces of a castle which took its part in history. 
English and French held it in turn, desperate fighting 
took place around it, and these things are still 
remembered by the kindly Normans who live there. 
Thus one worthy, a big-boned man with flowing 
white beard, told the Holiday-maker with great 
enjoyment of how, during the wars between England 
and France, the French effected entrance into the 
castle by a ruse, and the English garrison, alarmed, 



The Norman Bank^Messenger 23 

streamed out into the night clad only in their 
shirts. 

Yet further on, up the Seine river, is a fair city 
which the Holiday-maker loves well, and he took 
train there, in chance company of a round-headed 
Norman. This gentleman proved to be full of 
information, and ready to impart it. He pointed 
out to the Holiday-maker the beauties of the Norman 
landscape, where the train winds round high hills, 
or, getting weary of circumlocution, tears through a 
cutting or dashes shrieking into a tunnel, emerging 
to pant up some incline, at the foot of which gleams 
the river Seine. The round-headed Norman emphati- 
cally declared that the landscape, which still showed 
patches of snow, is much more beautiful in summer. 
Then followed some purely personal information. Does 
monsieur know why his travelling-companion wears 
such old clothes, and shabby ? The Holiday-maker, 
judging by himself, suggests that perhaps there are 
no others in immediate prospect. No, not so, not 
so at all. At home, mind you, put away for use on 
Sundays, is a coat of glossy black, with other garments 
to match, and all of the most " chic." On such occa- 
sions, too, a white collar and a cravatte replace the 
black-and-red checked neck-cloth. But the reason 
for the present disguise is this — and the Norman 
pointed mysteriously to a padlocked black leather bag. 
This bag contains much money, M for know you, 



24 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

monsieur, that I who speak to you am a bank- 
messenger, that my unobtrusive costume is but the 
disguise I don to conceal the vast responsibility laid 
upon me." The object is attained completely, as- 
surance to that effect still further strengthens the 
entente cordiale ; Norman bank-messenger and Holi- 
day-maker parted with expressions of the highest 
regard for each other, personally and as representatives 
of neighbour nations, great and friendly. 

One last dive into a tunnel, then the train slows 
down, and rumbles into a station. Here is Rouen, 
fair to look upon, famous in history. Here are broad 
avenues with modern shops and excellent restaurants 
down by the swift-flowing river ; here are narrow, 
old-world streets, and quaint relics of bygone days, 
" La Grande Horloge," odd corners under the 
shadow of the great cathedral, the little " Rue des 
Quatre Vents," where indeed the winter wind searches 
you out and finds you ; here are peeps of old gabled 
houses, surmounted by some graceful, towering spire. 
Then there is the vast majesty of the cathedral with 
its glorious west fagade, the church of St. Ouen 
with its delicate stone tracery and graceful columns, 
and yet a little further on a grim tower, that of Joan 
of Arc, which tells of dark mediaeval superstition, of 
ugly vengefulness and incredible credulity. 

But lovely as it is, and full of interest, Rouen 
does not at this time of the year offer what the 



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Arrosa Bay 27 

Holiday-maker has come out to see. So back to 
the big ship and away, out to sea again, over the 
Bay of Biscay, much maligned, for it is smooth 
and pleasant to look upon as we sail out of the 
mist into the pearly light of a brisk winter morning. 

Then land rises out of the morning, a rough, 
rugged coast, standing in bold, swinging outline 
against the rising sun. The air is clearer, though 
an opalescent haze still softens the hard contours of 
the coast of Spain ; colour is stronger, coaxed out 
by the rays of sunshine ; and that huge fleet of 
British battleships, steaming out of Arrosa Bay, 
merges into the scheme of pearly grey, topaz, 
emerald, and delicate pink of sky and sea. The 
grey, wave-washed hulls reflect the colours that 
surround them ; the glass of a port-hole glints like 
a diamond here and there in response to the silver 
flashing of the waters. Fluttering pennants and the 
red cross of St. George on the flowing white ensign 
add to the forceful effect, as the vast engines of 
war hold on their course in sternly ordered array. 

The sun rises high in the heavens and sparkles 
on the foam that dashes against the rocks in the 
long swinging swell of the Atlantic. The morning 
mists have vanished, and the coast-line stands out 
strong and rugged ; surely there is little hope of 
welcome on this forbidding-looking coast ! But no ! 
As we draw nearer the rocky masses ^divide, open 



28 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

out into a broad, winding channel, cunningly hidden 
from view by barren islands ; the estuary widens, 
and we drop anchor in a large harbour, opposite a 
small town. This is Vigo, a place of great import- 
ance, with one of the finest harbours on the coast, 
a frequent port of call for England's war-fleet. Soon 
picturesque humanity is seething round the sides of 
our big ship ; launches, tenders, boats of all sizes 
surround us, and send emigrants swarming up the 
companion-ladder, for this ship has got to go right 
across the Atlantic, far south, to countries dis- 
covered by the forbears of the very men who are 
leaving their old surroundings to woo Dame Fortune 
elsewhere. The usual bum-boat is much in evidence ; 
its ragged, bare-footed complement extols the virtue 
of stores of golden oranges, of parrots, green, or 
grey with saucy pink under the wings, of many 
other wares, which seldom seem to find a purchaser. 
The persistence of the bum-boat merchant is 
touching — how many travellers invest in the trea- 
sures offered at such elastic prices ? Does ever the 
most determined holiday-maker set out on his voyage 
with a parrot, green or grey and pink, however 
eloquent ? 

In contrast to the life around the ship lies the 
sleepy town of Vigo ; smoke rises lazily from many 
chimneys, heralding the midday meal, to be followed 
by siesta, though that condition seems to obtain 



Vigo 29 

already. No doubt the old castle has known stirring 
times. Watchers on the ramparts, looking out to 
sea, would espy white sails bearing in towards the 
sheltered harbour, heavy galleons would drop anchor 
or tie up alongside, and then the narrow streets 
would fill with swarthy sailors and curious landsmen, 
eager to hear of those rich countries far across the 
ocean, countries conquered by the sons of Spain, 
countries peopled by strange races which paid the 
tribute carried by these galleons. Then, again, a 
battered ship would struggle in wearily, for Drake 
and his hornets were out, and all the coast-line was 
unsafe. Then the men in the castle looked to the 
priming of their guns, and kept their eyes fixed on 
the entrance to the harbour. 

Those days are past, and English warships are 
welcome in Vigo harbour. But other excitement 
following on historic events has not been wanting 
recently. News came one October morning of a 
sudden revolution in the neighbour country, Portugal, 
news of the flight of a king and of the popular up- 
heaval which had caused it. Then came adherents 
of the old order, disappointed men, and made Vigo 
their headquarters. There, like disappointed men, 
they grumbled and plotted, and were finally requested 
to move further inland, further from the frontier of 
their own country. 

But a little further south a stream flows into the 



30 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

ocean at Caminha, the Minho, and this stream forms 
the boundary between Spain and Portugal whither 
we are bound. So our good ship swings out into 
the open sea by another channel, out into the western 
sea, where the sun is setting, to rise over a continent 
discovered by the energy and daring of those who 
lived on this rocky coast. 

Sunset and a clear southern sky, starlight reflected 
on the restless waters, as we pursue our way south- 
ward. 



CHAPTER II 



HIGH mountains to eastward stand out massive 
and blue against the sunrise ; for a moment 
the strong outline quivers in an aura of bright colours, 
then the sun rises, suddenly it seems, and gives to 
each feature of the landscape its proper proportion. 
The mountains recede, and shy villages, little white 
houses, which nestled in the shade till now, are 
suddenly illumined, and take their proper place. 
Another day is here, and its light detaches the details 
of the varied scene, shows human habitations, and 
men going about their business. This lies on the 
water along the coast ; witness the many white sails, 
out in the west, gleaming in the light of the newly 
risen sun. There is a joyous freshness in the air, a 
feeling of strength and purpose. 

Our big ship conveys us through the fleet of 
fishing-boats with their crews of sunburnt seafarers, 
who have toiled all night. They now transfer their 
glittering catch to small, busy steamers, which dart 
out from the hidden harbours among the rocks, and 
dash back again with an air of bustle and great 

31 



32 Winter Holiday in Portugal 

importance. And their business is indeed important, 
for the welfare of many bright-eyed women and sturdy 
children depends upon the labours of these toilers of 
the sea. 

How many Britons have passed along this coast 
out into the Far East ? How many have wondered 
what manner of men live on this rocky shore, and 
how they live and have their being? How many 
have passed by without stopping ? Among these the 
Holiday-maker was to be reckoned, but he never 
passed by here without longing for an answer to 
his questions. And now he has been granted an 
insight, a glimpse only, into this country with its 
rock-bound coast, has been privileged to visit some 
of those nestling villages and pretty little towns 
basking in the light of the newly risen sun. It is 
the fulfilment of this desire, the pleasing memory 
of all the lovely sights he saw, which now leads 
him to express himself with pen and pencil. 

Here let it be definitely stated in all humility 
that the Holiday-maker is a singularly fortunate 
mortal. His lot is cast on pleasant lines, and 
Fortune has further favoured him with many friends, 
good and true. Led by such ^pleasant experience 
of his fellow-men, he is ever ready to add to this 
genial host of friends, and much desires to enroll 
his readers. Therefore, as first evidence of friendly 
feeling, he would share with his readers the pleasant 



Vianna do Castello 33 

memories of this winter holiday, would lead them 
through the lovely country where that holiday was 
spent, would make them acquainted with that lovable 
people, all those who live in Portugal, who made 
that holiday yet more delightful. 

The big ship holds on her steady course, but we 
will deviate and yield to the temptation of entering 
one of those small harbours. There, round that bluff 
headland, the point of Santa Luzia, lies a pretty 
little town, well worth a visit. No big liners ever call 
here, at Vianna do Castello, 1 with its white houses, its 
church towers, picked out against the dark background 
of firs and pines and evergreens. Beyond those pleasant 
woods again are heights, and they close in upon a gently 
flowing river, famous in legend and history. 

This is the Lima, which, born of virgin snow, 
winds down from those vast mountains into one of 
the loveliest vales on earth, the valley of the Lima, 
known to the Romans as the " Happy Valley." 
Here it was that a Roman legion, forgetful of 
duty, disregarding Caesar's commands, mutinied when 
ordered back to Imperial Rome : they would not 
leave this " Happy Valley." Of an evening, when 
pink clouds, coloured by the last rays of the setting 
sun, mirror themselves on the broad, smooth sur- 
face of the waters, whispering voices of waving reeds 
commune with the trees of the forests. The soft 

1 Capital of the District, 10,000 inhabitants ; Hotel Central. 



34 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

evening breeze, breathing the pure air of the moun- 
tains, laden with the scent of the pine trees, searches 
out hidden nooks and crannies. Then Diana awakes, 
and her maidens, and their white, flowing garments 
gleam in the light of the crescent as it flows through 
the lace-work of branches. When the full moon 
hangs low and golden over the mountains, then 
Bacchus and his followers meet and hold high holi- 
day, for Bacchus sought out this valley as his place 
of exile when the Cross drove him from his high 
estate. But the gods are not dead, and the worship 
of Bacchus is no mere dream of the past. 

The ancient town of Vianna dreams too, as the 
rippling waters flash in the silvery moonlight. 
Dreams of long-forgotten days, of the men of Celtic 
race, whose ruined habitation may yet be seen on 
the heights of Santa Luzia. Dreams of more recent 
days when the town took shape at the mouth of 
the Lima, and bred bold, venturesome men who 
sailed out into the west. For many years these 
seafarers, having obtained concessions from the Kings 
of England, came to fish off the English coasts. 
They then went further and established the fisheries 
on the banks of Newfoundland ; their ships returned 
with quantities of dried cod, called ' bacalhao ' and 
much beloved of the Portuguese people. There 
was also a brisk trade between Vianna and English 
ports, Portuguese merchants paying for English 



Vianna do Castello 37 

goods with the wines of Portugal. Thus was port 
introduced into England, to the great contentment 
of many, for, as a Portuguese proverb hath it, 
"Good wine makes a soft bed." It may well do 
so, for the beds in Northern Portugal are very 
hard, to which fact the bones of the Holiday-maker 
bear testimony. He retired to bed at Vianna, very 
tired, after a glorious day in the forest and on the 
heights of Santa Luzia, to awake the next morning with 
a set of limbs that did not appear to be his own, until 
movement painfully restored them to their different 
uses. Nevertheless a pillow apparently filled with 
sand and a bed of what seemed made of unyielding 
masonry did not rob him of his rest nor chase away 
dreams of " green days in forest, and blue days at sea." 

But the palmy days of Vianna do Castello have 
departed. It was at one time the only place of 
export for the wines of Northern Portugal ; it had 
many rich monasteries and convents. Now, since 
the end of the seventeenth century, Oporto has 
absorbed the trade, the monasteries and convents 
stand deserted, and Vianna sleeps in the sunshine. 
It is still attractive, more so, perhaps, in its present 
state of quietude, with its fine old houses, displaying 
here and there a Manueline door or window. There 
are pleasant gardens by the river side, palms, and 
the perfume of golden mimosa and the glory of the 
Judas tree in blossom ; here you may sit and 
3 



38 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

watch fishermen spearing fish out on the sparkling 
river. 

The wooded heights that enclose the town hide 
much that is beautiful. Fortune here again favoured 
the Holiday-maker; he found a friend who led him 
out into the hills to a monastery long deserted, yet 
alive with pathetic interest — a small monastery, 
dating from the fourteenth century, hidden amongst 
the hills, embowered in pines and ilex trees. An 
ancient stone-flagged road leads to its portal 
crowned with the image of the patron saint. Great 
magnolia trees, decked with red blossoms of unusual 
size and perfect symmetry, cast their shadow on the 
grey, moss-clad walls. The magnolia is, by the 
way, the oldest-known flowering tree ; petals of its 
blossoms have been found in geological strata, bear- 
ing testimony to its venerable age. Camellias dis- 
play their waxen petals, fair flowers grow in the 
garden everywhere. The monastery stands just as 
the good monks left it, but here and there are signs 
of decay, and a wistful silence reigns in the cells, 
the simple refectory, and those more elaborate rooms 
where visitors were received. The chapel is the 
most pathetic — rude but well-meant frescoes, paintings, 
touching in their imperfection are fading from the 
walls, the altar-rails are broken, and on the bare altar 
still stands an illuminated missal. Above the altar 
is the carved shrine, its gilding tarnished, its sacred 



Vianna do Castello 39 

images and floral offerings dust-covered — yet the 
sense of incense lingers here. The deserted sanc- 
tuary yet breathes the spirit of devotion, simple and 
sincere, and answer comes from rustling forest trees, 
and clear, cool fountains in shady places ; worship 
and reverence is in the voice of the breeze that 
bears hither as incense the scent of the pine woods 
and the perfume of flowers. 

From the heights of Santa Luzia, where a modern 
temple is in course of construction, a bronze figure 
looks down upon the town of Vianna. It is a figure 
of Christ, the work of a Portuguese sculptor, Queiroz 
Ribeiro, and it should rank among the most beautiful 
of man's handiwork. In conception it is entirely free 
from convention. There are none of the traditional 
emblems, there is no halo, there are no marks of the 
Passion : a simple figure, intensely human, and divine in 
its humanity, seems to be urged forward by endless com- 
passion towards the mortals in the valley below. It is 
indeed a work of genius, sincere, and of singular beauty. 

But the Holiday-maker must return to the big 
ship, for he has decided to become acquainted with 
the capital of Portugal and as much of the surround- 
ing country as a short holiday allows. So a fleeting 
glance at the country is all that the present occasion 
calls for. Behind that stern coast, exposed to the 
full force of the Atlantic, lies a country beautiful, rich, 
and full of historic interest. There are terraces where 



4° A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

the vines grow in the sunshine, there are broad fields 
and fat meadows, cosy homesteads embowered in 
blooming fruit-trees, white masses of apple blossom 
and of pear, sprays of pink almond, cool streams of 
green water rolling down from the hills, and behind 
all the serried ranks of snow-clad mountains. 

From beyond those mountains came the men that 
made Portugal. There was the small kingdom of 
Leon, which was saved by its inaccessibility from the 
inroads of the Moors. It developed and gained 
strength. Adventurers came from the north to fight 
for the Cross, and no doubt for their own advantage. 
Among these was Henry, Count of Burgundy, who 
married Dona Teresa, daughter of King Affonso 
of Leon. Count Henry made Leobriga, an ancient 
Gothic stronghold, his capital, and as Guimaraes the 
place became the cradle of a race of kings. Count 
Henry rebuilt the castle, and ruled wisely. It is said 
that he introduced the vine from Burgundy, but both 
Seneca and Pliny found the people of this country 
well acquainted with viniculture. Count Henry died 
young, and his able wife reigned in his stead during 
his infant son's minority. She asserted the inde- 
pendence of Portugal, which then consisted of only 
two counties, Guimaraes and the country about Oporto. 
But these she handed over to her son as one compact 
realm, and Dom Affonso Henriques came into a goodly 
heritage. Starting with this advantage, the young 



Guimaraes, Leixdes, Oporto 43 

prince set himself the task of freeing the country to 
the south of the Moorish invaders, carving out a new 
kingdom for himself. We shall see how he succeeded, 
how his sword gained victory on victory, how he 
was proclaimed king by his army and founded a 
dynasty of strong rulers, as we pursue our way 
through Portugal. 

Guimaraes was Dom Affonso Henriques' starting- 
place, Oporto his point d'apput, and thither the good 
ship is taking us. We land at the outside port, 
Leixoes, for big liners do not go up the river to 
Oporto. Having landed, an electric tram takes us 
along the river up to Oporto. Our way is very 
beautiful, by the banks of broad Douro, fringed with 
forests of masts. Signs of activity increase as we 
approach, tugs and small boats crossing over from 
one bank to the other, and there is a constant stream 
of wayfarers over high- and low-level bridges. The 
town of Oporto rises from the river level on the 
right bank to the ridge that is crowned at its highest 
point by the cathedral, the bishop's palace, and the 
ruins of the old castle. 

The history of Oporto began on the southern bank 
where now stands Villa Nova de Gaia. Here stood 
a castle called Calle ; its walls, enclosing a small 
township, extended down to the river, where ships 
used to anchor. Hence the name Portus Calle, Portus 
Calliensis, finally extending as Portugal over all the 



44 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

territory regained from the Moors, a fact of which 
Oporto is justly proud. The small township then 
extended to the northern bank, retaining its name, 
and settling round a fortress called Pena Ventosa. 
Others say that the Suevi, driven from the north of 
Spain by the Goths, built a castle here in 417 ; as a 
matter of fact, the earliest history of the city is 
wrapped in mystery, and it was not till the town, 
castle, and surrounding country, as the county Portu- 
caliensis, came to be part of the kingdom of Leon, 
that its history assumed definite outlines. The Moors 
called here, of course, and in 937, led by Almangor 
of Cordova, destroyed Pena Ventosa. Sixty years 
later the Bishop of Vandome sent a band of Gascons 
here to rebuild the castle and drive out the Moors. 
Since then Oporto has grown in importance, and 
considers itself quite the equal of Lisbon, the capital 
of the country. It was with great regret that the 
Holiday-maker tore himself away from Oporto after a 
very short stay, for he has friends there too, and found 
much of beauty and of interest to record — so much, 
in fact, that both country and people of Oporto, of all 
Northern Portugal, are entitled to separate treatment. 

Out into the western sea once more for a last 
few hours on board the big ship, passing southward 
down the coast of Portugal, until the lights on shore 
pale before the rising sun, and a broad gap in the 
coast-line opens invitingly. 



Ulysses 45 

Legend has been busy here, talks of a pearly 
grey morning, centuries ago, and of a seafarer of 
such peripatetic habits that he certainly deserves to 
rank as holiday-maker. On that morning, so many 
centuries ago, a strange craft worked her way into 
that gap in the coast line — a craft of a kind that 
no modern traveller would trust himself to for any- 
thing but a river trip. It relied for propulsion chiefly 
on a row of oars, how many the Holiday-maker cannot 
say ; it also had a mainsail, which relieved the rowers 
occasionally. Yet this craft had had the most extra- 
ordinary adventures on the high seas. It had started 
out from Ithaca, sailed round Greece, and found its 
way among the islands to the coast of Asia Minor. 
Here, in company with other similar craft, it was 
beached, no doubt, and lay up till the crew, who were 
also redoubtable warriors, had, after a long siege, 
sacked and devastated Troy. The ruins of that city 
have been unearthed, so part of the story must be 
true, and why not therefore give at least a hearing 
to other parts of the story, which have not yet been 
disproved ? It was to the owner of this strange craft, 
to Ulysses, that the capture of Troy was due. We 
also know that this pronounced holiday-maker travelled 
very far out of his way indeed, before he returned 
to the bosom of his family, so why may he not have 
visited Portugal ? It is just as likely as many of the 
other extraordinary things that happened to him. A 



46 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

visit to Portugal in those days was no common oc- 
currence, it is true. There was no Booth line to make 
everything easy and comfortable. Ulysses did not 
show a beautiful three-cornered label, marked U, on 
his hat-box, as proof that he really had been abroad. 
He got a poet called Homer to record his travels, 
which is really just as convincing, and more pictur- 
esque. 

Let us, then, correct a slight omission in the 
Iliad, and send Ulysses to the mouth of the 
Tagus, nor stop at that, but boldly let him lay the 
foundations of Lisbon. Why not ? Ulysses was a 
man of vast experience, and of a thoroughly practical 
turn of mind ; he also had a strong sense for the 
beautiful, of which many recorded instances give 
evidence ; and all these qualities would force a man 
to build a city exactly where Lisbon now stands. 
First of all, Lisbon stands on seven hills — every 
great city should — and a man like Ulysses would 
hardly pass by a cluster of seven hills without 
beginning to build on one of them. As a knowing 
seafarer, he would bring the city wall down to the 
river side, and build a suitable landing-stage there 
where the river is broadest. How he, the man of 
travel, must have enjoyed it ! — the broad waterway by 
which he entered after careful soundings on the bar, the 
wooded heights closing in on either hand, the range of 
high mountains to the north, arresting the clouds that 



Ulysses 47 

they might not disturb the serenity of the blue sky 
reflected in blue water ; then, just where the seven 
hills grow so opportunely, the river broadens to the 
dimensions of a lake. No, it would certainly be 
unfair to Ulysses, both in his capacity as contriver 
and as holiday-maker, to rob him of this, his crowning 
achievement, of founding Lisbon. 

But like a well-conditioned holiday-maker, Ulysses 
tore himself away from Lisbon and returned home, 
where, by the way, he spoiled some other people's 
holiday. With what regret Ulysses must have looked 
back upon a scene so fair ! — the broad river vanishing 
in the east, the banks narrowing, and widening again 
as his ship began to dance on the incoming tide and his 
crew strained at their oars. Then little by little the 
light faded out of the landscape, till the last rays of 
the sun flashed for a moment on the high peaks of the 
Serra of Cintra ; then they too stood in purple gloom, 
and Ulysses altered the course, and rounding the Cape 
of Espichel, lost sight of his latest and most lasting 
achievement. 

The conditions under which Ulysses, the holiday- 
maker of history and legend, entered the Tagus, 
differed in many respects from those of his humble 
and very recent follower. The climate was probably 
much the same, mild and balmy, so that this Holiday- 
maker crossed the bar in a costume as light as that 
which Ulysses and his race were wont to wear, though 



48 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

of more definite form, and less liable to derangement 
by the sportive morning breeze. The main features 
of the landscape have altered but a little. Surely 
Cape Espichel looked dim and blue and distant, but 
without its twinkling light. There was the same roar 
of mighty breakers, hurled by the Atlantic swell 
against the hollowed rocks of the Bocca do Inferno, 
the same swirling of foam against the cliffs, the same 
tumbling seas on the sandy beach, and over the bar 
the same Serra, crowned with clouds rose-coloured by 
the rising sun, looking down serenely over a lovely 
landscape away into the eastern haze, full of promise 
of things beautiful. 

Here similarity ends. Ulysses did not feel con- 
strained by evidences of civilisation around him to go 
below and don suitable apparel. He probably had no 
comfortable cabin to go to, no attentive steward to 
minister to his wants, no change of garments to worry 
about, and possibly no breakfast worth mentioning 
to look forward to. Certainly holiday-making is 
materially improved since the days of Ulysses. But 
tremendous changes have taken place since then which 
have affected even Portugal, that land of leisure. 
Instead of bumping up against unsuspected rocks, 
landing in the dark and suddenly, on some unknown 
shore, to be discovered in the morning by inappre- 
ciative natives, the ways over the waters are prepared 
with great care for the holiday-maker. Lighthouses 



The Torre de S. Vincento 49 

guide his ship into safety; his path is made smooth 
for him on landing ; in fact, it is not until after re- 
flecting on the trials of former generations of holiday- 
makers that the modern seeker after rest and pleasure 
in foreign lands realises to the full his many advantages. 

This was borne in upon the Holiday-maker as the 
big ship swung round Cabo Raso, as modern villas, 
springing up from out of groves of pines, old-fashioned 
forts with quaint pepper-box turrets by the water-side, 
met his glance. Cascaes, with its royal palace 
enclosed by the walls of an ancient fort, waving 
palms decking the terraces ; Mont' Estoril, that bright 
and pleasant winter resort, with its golden sands and 
castellated mansions ; Parede and Carcavellas, and then 
another fort, Torre de S. Juliao, pass in succession, 
sheltered by the Serra of Cintra. Opposite the Torre 
de S. Juliao, the Torre do Bugio, the lighthouse, 
marks the entrance to the Tagus curving slightly to 
where a graceful tower stands out into the river. 

In this tower we meet with the first striking 
evidence of the history of Portugal. It is the Tower 
of Belem, the Torre de S. Vincento, built on the spot 
where Vasco de Gama landed on returning from his 
voyage of discovery. King Manuel I. caused it to 
be built — Dom Manoel, so great a king that men 
called him the Fortunate. Of this and other matters 
the Holiday-maker has much to tell ; of the history 
of that town, rising on seven hills from the banks 



50 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

of the river where warships and merchantmen lie at 
anchor, where are everywhere signs of life and 
enterprise ; of the people who live there, and go 
about their business or pleasure. Much that is 
beautiful, much that is interesting, is to be found 
in Lisbon, the capital of Portugal. 




5 1 



I 



CHAPTER III 

THE modern holiday-maker travels in greater 
comfort than those who went before. There 
may yet be some of those still living who tell of much 
discomfort on landing on a foreign shore. Passports 
were required, and scrutinised by officials of whose 
capability for understanding such weighty documents 
some doubt was justified. This discomfort has been 
abolished in Portugal, and in all civilised countries 
except Russia, Turkey, Roumania, and Servia. Of the 
civilisation of the last-named country the less said the 
better— in fact, there is very little to say of it. The 
Holiday-maker once arrived at Belgrade in the dead 
of night. Unceremonious officials boarded the train, 
collected passports, kept them for some twenty 
minutes, and then returned them to the travellers in 
bunches, leaving each to choose his own. Again, 
another serious nuisance was caused by the fiscal 
authorities, whose prying into portmanteaux the 
traveller watched with some anxiety. This, too, is 
no very grave matter, at least in Portugal, for officers 
of the customs now begin to recognise how harmless 

53 



54 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

holiday-makers are, and the shipping agents also 
assist in making this inconvenience less pronounced. 

So the Holiday-maker landed in Lisbon, and be- 
thought him of some place to lay his head. The 
choice was difficult on account of its variety. There 
was the Hotel Braganc^a ; the Avenida, a pleasant- 
sounding name ; the Central, which sounds more 
business-like ; the Durand, suggesting homeliness. 
The Holiday-maker decided for the first of all these, 
the Braganga. The name alone calls up memories of 
the great race that ruled over a great country ; it has 
such a romantic flavour ; in short, to live there would 
seem most in keeping with the Holiday-maker's 
intention of entering into the life and history of 
Portugal. 

The way leads along a level road for a while, a 
road none too well kept, with waste space between it 
and the railway line that leads to Cascaes. Beyond 
that again are ungainly sheds that line the river-side, 
where ships of all sorts are loading or discharging. 
Yet a little farther on fishing-boats land the night's 
catch, which is then carried in big baskets to the fish- 
market across the road. This is a scene of intense 
and noisy activity. Out of the hurly-burly emerge 
the fish-wives, each carrying a basket of glittering 
wares on her head. Each has her daily round, a 
certain section of the town, which she perambulates, 
calling attention to her goods in strident tones. There 



The Lisbon Fish-girls 55 

is only one fish-shop in Lisbon, so it is said ; the 
Holiday-maker did not visit it, and therefore cannot 
say how business goes there. But it is certain that the 
fish-wives do a good trade, especially during Lent. 
They seem a happy and contented tribe, these fish- 
wives ; the name does not quite suit them, for they 
are of all ages, mostly young girls, some children yet, 
lithe and active, their gait instinct with that grace 
which belongs to those who carry burdens on their 
heads ; one meets it again in Eastern Europe, in 
Egypt, and to perfection among the Hindu women 
of India. 

These fish-girls belong to a different race ; it is 
said that their ancestors came from Phoenicia, and 
settled in the country round about Ovarand Varina, 
whence they come to the towns to earn their bread. 
Their contentment expresses itself now and again in a 
graceful contre-dance, to the rhythm of a somewhat 
mournful chant, sung by the dancers, as they glide, 
barefooted, through a maze of intricate steps. The 
dance, executed in the middle of the street, with 
the waving palms in a public garden hard by the fish- 
market as a background, suggest chiton and himateon 
rather than the short but voluminous skirts, Grecian 
knots laced with coloured ribbons rather than the 
hard felt hats, worn by these dancing damsels. The 
dancing has a strange fascination, which made the 
Holiday-maker late for church one Sunday morning. 



56 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

All this on the road to the Hotel Braganga ; a 
plunge into a narrow street, through which electric 
trams run to the accompaniment of the angry clangour 
of the drivers' bells. Many obstructions meet these 
trams on their round of the city ; of these one is 
peculiar to Lisbon only. A quaint conveyance, 
resembling a box open at the sides, painted in 
colours once garish, now tarnished and subdued, rolls 
gaily, drawn by mules, along the tramway track. 
The conveyance, furnished with seats, conveys the 
poorer people at cheap rates, and is always crowded. 
It is one of many that belong to an enterprising 
gentleman, Eduardo Jorge, whose name is plainly 
written on the board above the side of this conveyance. 
The wheels of this contrivance are made to fit the 
track, the right to use the track is that of piracy. 
In fact, no such right exists, but as two rails happen 
to be lying in the road, Eduardo Jorge sees fit to 
use them. The insistent note of the electric-tram 
bell at last conveys to the driver of the pirate 
car a glimmering of the rights of others, and he 
makes some show of inclination to oblige. But the 
mules have got to be consulted, and one of them 
may consider this an opportune moment for a rest — 
well merited, no doubt. The mule rests peacefully 
through a storm of vituperation ; then, having rested, 
assists his colleague in hauling the pirate craft off 
the track, to run it swaying, rumbling, into the gutter. 



Hotel Braganga 57 

Here the other mule may think fit to take a rest. 
Such pleasing episodes as this may be taken as 
evidence that the struggle for existence is not so 
desperate here as it is elsewhere. 

Out of the narrow, low-lying street, into broader 
ones that lead upwards, a sharp turn, and we arrive 
at the portals of the Hotel Braganga. A stately 
building this, once the residence of Royal Bragangas, 
and no doubt with some share in the history of 
Portugal. Portuguese art, too, is in evidence, for in 
the hall stands a huge screen of black wood, upon 
which is carved boldly, yet gracefully withal, an 
intricate florid design. The atmosphere is pleasant, 
yet strange at first. You are made welcome, and 
your wants are ministered unto, all without undue 
hurry ; good food there is and good wine, and a 
glorious view out of window over the river to the 
distant hills. 

But a finer view offers from the upstair rooms, 
facing south. At your feet is a sea of roofs, out of 
which some emerge with more insistence than others. 
There is the flat roof of the English college in the 
Largo do Corpo Santo, where you may now and 
again see young English priests, their black cassocks 
relieved by a scarlet band, taking the air, and no 
doubt discoursing on serious matters. Leading east- 
ward towards Black Horse Square is the Rua do 
Arsenal ; a shadow hangs over it, for there, at the 
4 



5 8 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

farther end, a king was foully murdered, and with 
him fell his son — a king who generously trusted 
his safety to his people, and who was done to death 
by adherents of the principle he represented, men 
who feared that strong measures would end the 
corrupt practices they favoured. This outrage left 
the reins of government in the hands of a boy all 
untrained for his high office, and led to troubles of 
which the end is not yet in sight, despite the well- 
meant efforts of poets, lawyers, soldiers, and other 
dilettant statesmen now in power. 

Within the Arsenal are to be heard sounds of 
activity, interrupted now and again by tumultuous 
strikes, since Liberty came to Portugal. The nation's 
warships are overhauled here ; others lie out in the 
fairway, more or less fit for service — at any rate, 
capable of revolutionary action. The vast expanse 
of water, the largest, safest harbour in the world, 
could well accommodate ten times the warships now 
sufficient for the needs of the Portuguese Empire 
overseas. 

There are few sights so fair as that from an up- 
stairs window in Hotel Braganca. Before the rising 
sun lights up the hidden corners of the city, when 
rumbling market-carts pass, undisturbed by electric 
trams, through the stone-paved streets, the river lies 
broad and silent, dimly reflecting hulls and mast-head 
lights of the shipping in harbour. A golden glow in 



The View from the Hotel Braganca 59 

the east brings the outline of heights to southward 
into strange relief. Then distant Palmella catches the 
first rays of the sun ; they light upon the heights 
of Almada, they relegate the mast-head lights to 
fitting obscurity, and suddenly illumine the fair land- 
scape. Quaint little towns over the water shine 
white in the sunshine ; busy Barreiro, Alfeite in its 
bower of dark pine trees, Cacilhas, and the castle 
above it, all rejoice in the light of the morning. 

But Nature may show herself in other mood from 
time to time. While a tranquil sunset throws up 
the graceful dome of Estrella Church with its atten- 
dant pinnacles, while the shades have lowered on 
the fair gardens of Estrella, when deep peace lies 
over St. George's cemetery, where Fielding 1 rests 
under tapering cypress trees, in an ordered tangle of 
flowering shrubs, a fiercer note comes out of the 
east. Storm-clouds are gathering over the valley 
of the Tagus, Palmella hangs in an angry haze, and 
swiftly the tempest tears over the waters where ships 
strain at their cables. Then the graceful arum lilies 
that grow in the shade under the trees of St George's 
cemetery bow their white chalices before the storm, 
and periwinkles bordering the paths hide their heads 
under dark heavy leaves, as the storm-wind strews 
broadcast the crimson petals of the Judas-tree. The 

1 Fielding, the descendant of that Habsburg-Feldenheim who, dis- 
possessed by Rudolf von Habsburg, settled in England. From Feldenheim 
the Fieldings derive their name. 



6o A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

storm-wind shrieks through the streets, drowning 
the sounds of traffic, churns up the waters that rush 
out to meet the ocean, with hardly time to reflect 
fitfully the many harbour lights. 

But as suddenly as it arose the storm subsides ; 
Lisbon sleeps, and heeds not the still voices of the 
night, heard only by those who listen intently. They 
tell of former times, when Lisbon emerged from 
the mists of legend to take part in history. No 
definite origin exists even of the name of this city. 
Some make Ulysipo, then Lisbon, out of Ulysses. 
Others declare that the name derives from the 
Phoenician " allis " and "ublo," which mean " a 
pleasant bay." From these two terms came Allisublo, 
Olisipo, Lissipone, Lisibona, then Lisboa. No trace 
remains of the Phoenicians, who came on business 
only and never settled here. Even the Romans, 
who were nothing if not definite, say only what 
they themselves accomplished here. They came in 
the second century before the Christian era, built 
first a stronghold, then a town, which grew and 
became beautiful, with temples, baths, amphitheatres, 
and eventually rose to municipal privileges, and was 
called Felicita Julia in the days of Julius Caesar. 

The Romans had their day, and, leaving their 
impress on the country, their language, and many 
ruined monuments, they made way for the barbarian 
hordes. Then in the eighth century of our time Alanni 




6i 



The Story of Lisbon 63 

came to Lisbon, and with them Suevi. But these 
went under when in the same century the Arabs 
came and conquered, and took possession of the land. 
In the meantime, Christianity had come to the Goths 
in the northern parts of the Peninsula, and inspired 
them to carry the Cross over all the land. So for 
centuries strife and warfare filled the pages of history, 
and Lisbon became chief subject of contention. 
The struggle raged with varying fortunes. From 
time to time the Christians would succeed in wresting 
Lisbon from the Pagans. So in 753 Fruela I., 
King of Oviedo, held Lisbon for a while ; then 
followed Dom Affonso the Chaste, King of the 
Asturias, in 800; Ordonho III., King of Leon, in 
851 ; and Dom Affonso of Leon and Castile in 903. 
These conquests and reconquests caused endless 
suffering to the city, which was, in addition to all 
its troubles, visited by earthquakes in 1009, 1017, 
and 1 1 76. 

It was not till shortly after this last visitation 
that Affonso Henriques, first King of Portugal, 
assisted by English and Flemish crusaders, captured 
the castle, and added Lisbon to the kingdom of 
Portugal. Dom Affonso Henriques came down from 
the north with his warriors, native and alien, under 
a banner, white with a blue cross, the colours which 
have since so often led Portuguese armies to victory, 
Portuguese ships to the conquest of distant countries. 



64 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Lisbon then grew apace ; the Moors, who sub- 
mitted to Christian rule, lived below the castle which 
they had gallantly defended ; houses sprang up outside, 
and busy life teemed in the narrow streets. The 
importance of the town increased yet more when 
Affonso III. brought his court hither from Coimbra 
towards the middle of the thirteenth century, and all 
went well for a while, though earthquakes caused 
consternation in 1344 and 1356. Trouble, luckily 
short-lived, came when in 1373, during the reign of 
Dom Fernando I., Henry of Castile destroyed the 
town, a large part of which lay without the walls. 
But peace was soon concluded with the King of 
Spain, and Dom Fernando set about to enclose the 
town with an enceinte of towers and strong walls. 

The palmiest days of Lisbon were those which 
followed the discovery of the sea-way to India; great 
wealth poured into the city, and luxury increased with 
fabulous wealth. But it was short-lived, the pros- 
perity of Portugal began to decline in the reign of 
Dom Joao III., and with the sad fate of Dom 
Sebastiao went Lisbon's high estate. After years 
of prosperity, years during which Portugal's word was 
law to countries of far greater extent, to nations far 
more numerous, a rash young King, Sebastiao, hurried 
his country into ruin by a fantastic expedition, de- 
stined to tear Morocco from the Moors. The King 
fell in battle, with him the flower of his chivalry. 



I ' 

Lisbon, Alto de Santa Catherina 65 

Of those who survived but few returned, the re- 
mainder lingered on through years of slavery. The 
people of Portugal refused to believe that their King 
had perished ; they held that he still lived in hiding 
on some unknown island out in the western sea. Are 
those sounds, borne on the breeze that heralds the 
rising sun, the sighs of those who, in those troubled 
days, went up to St. Catherine's Height to gaze with 
wistful eyes out to seaward ? " Ver navios do Alto 
de Santa Catherina" ("to see the ships return, from 
St. Catherine's Height ") is now a Portuguese proverb 
suggesting a hopeless longing. 

A shrill whistle breaks into our dreams, another 
day has dawned on Lisbon — the loud-voiced siren of 
the Arsenal proclaims the fact. A new day, balmy 
and bright ; no trace of last night's tempest, except 
that the streets have a more washed appearance than 
usual. Holiday-makers should be abroad betimes in 
the morning, not so much as a matter of principle, 
but because it is a good and pleasant thing to do. 
It is also necessary if you would see every phase 
of the life of the people you visit. We shall have 
some nights out, too, that the Holiday-maker promises 
you — rare nights out, and as much fun as Lisbon 
can offer. 

In the meantime the early morning has much of 
interest to show you. Pass out of the Rua do 
Arsenal, going east, and you come to Black Horse 



66 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Square, properly called the Praca do Commercio. 
Why so called is hard to say ; the only evidence of 
commercial enterprise is centred in several small 
kiosks where you may buy cigars and cigarettes. 
Nor do the gentlemen who hover about this open 
space suggest any kind of business. The place 
certainly deserves the name given to it by English- 
men, Black Horse Square, for a big equestrian statue 
stands in jt. This statue, which is a very fine 
specimen of eighteenth-century art, was erected in 
1 775 by a grateful town to the King, Dom Jose* L, 
and his able Minister, the Marquis of PombaL The 
reason for gratitude was the help given by the 
Monarch and his Minister to those who had suffered 
in the awful earthquake which visited the city some 
years before the monument was erected. 

Enclosing the square to east and westward are 
Government offices, ministries, and such-like haunts 
of mystery. To southward a low parapet shuts off 
the open space from the river, here at its broadest. 
An opening in the parapet leads down by shallow 
steps to the water's edge, where tugs and small boats 
draw up to land passengers, mostly country folk, 
from the opposite bank. 

From the north side of the square broad streets 
lead into the town, but with these the Holiday-maker 
is not at present concerned. He dives into a street, 
the Rua da Alfandega, leading east, and stops for 



Lisbon, Casa dos Bicos 69 

a moment before a handsome doorway, on the left- 
hand side, This is the arched entrance, beautifully 
carved in stone, leading into the church of " Con- 
ceigao Velha," rebuilt on the ruins of that of " Nossa 
Senhora de Misericordia," founded by Dom Manoel L, 
whose reign evolved and brought to perfection the 
design named after him, of which this doorway is a 
fine specimen. Near by are narrow streets of mean 
houses. Some of these date back to the fifteenth 
and sixteenth centuries ; they escaped the fate of 
many others that went down in the great earthquake 
or were consumed by fire. One or the other of these 
old houses is adorned with stone carving, a three- 
masted ship under full sail — often a work of art — and 
this betokened in former days that the house was 
the property of the city. 

Among these old houses one stands out above 
its fellows with a particular emphasis. Its front 
offers no usual smooth surface — each stone composing 
it has been fined down into a point which protrudes 
in menacing manner ; and these serried ranks of points 
have given the house its name of " Casa dos Bicos." 
Legend could not pass by here without weaving 
some romance round this quaint mansion — has, in fact, 
been generous, and given choice of several different 
tales. One says that this house was built by a very 
rich man, who said that he meant to set a diamond 
in the point of each stone. Such display of opulence 



7° A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

met with the displeasure of the King ; he would not 
suffer the erection of any mansion richer than a 
royal palace ; the building was therefore not allowed 
to rise beyond one storey in height. Another tale 
tells of a negro queen who lived here when Dom 
Manoel the Fortunate was King. She brought many 
diamonds, and had them concealed in the sharp 
pointed stones. Detractors doubted the genuineness 
of those diamonds, yet for a while the house was 
called the Casa Riquissima. Yet another version has 
it that the King did not interfere with the owner, 
who set a false diamond into the point of every stone 
about the ground floor. Whether royalty in the 
person of a negro queen lived in this ancient edifice 
or not, goodly company assembled here no doubt 
when Dom Braz d'Albuquerque, natural son of the 
great Affonso d'Albuquerque, Viceroy of India, lived 
in this house among many other nobles who made 
this their quarter after the Jews had been expelled 
in 1497. Before that, this was the Jewish quarter 
of Lisbon, and it is said that their synagogue stood 
on the site now occupied by the Church of " Conceicao 
Velha." 

The sight of two ancient arches, remains of Lisbon's 
old fortifications, leads to thoughts of more modern 
methods of offence and defence, a study of which is 
offered at the Artillery Museum. A rich and interest- 
ing collection awaits holiday-makers here ; weapons, 



Lisbon, the Cathedral 71 

arms, of all nations and ages • flags and banners, under 
which men went to victory or defended their rights 
and liberty ; relics of historic personages, records of 
famous names, that add a touch of personal interest, 
and spare spaces are filled up with clever paintings, 
by Portuguese painters, recording historic events. 

These records of historic events arouse a desire 
to visit historic places, and of these one is within easy 
reach. Up the hillside, through narrow streets, the 
way leads past the old cathedral. Very old indeed, so 
old that the date of its foundation is unknown. Some 
trace it back to the days of Diocletian, which seems 
improbable, as that Emperor persecuted Christians. 
Others place its birth in the reign of Constantine the 
Great, and yet others ascribe it to Leovegilde, King 
of the Visigoths, over two centuries later. There 
seems to be sufficient reason to suppose that this 
church was repaired and added to by the Bishop of 
Seville in the reign of Reccarede, son of Leovegilde. 
The Arabs then converted it into a mosque, and 
Affonso Henriques re-established the old worship when 
he captured the city, and undertook repairs. These 
repairs are still in progress, and show no signs of 
freeing the stern Romanesque front from the unlovely 
scaffolding that disfigures it. 

The interior of the cathedral is interesting and 
imposing. Here, in one of the chapels, St. Vincent 
the Martyr lies buried, and in the chancel Dom 



72 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Affonso IV. and Dona Brites, his wife. Behind the 
cathedral are the cloisters, a secluded old-world spot 
with broken Gothic arches showing through the 
branches of flowering shrubs. Here, in the centre 
of the cloisters, stands a cage containing two ravens. 
These, too, contribute to the pious memory of the saint, 
and for this reason. King Affonso, after driving the 
Moors headlong into the sea, discovered the remains 
of the saint in a forest near Cape St. Vincent. They 
had been concealed by the Christians during the 
Moorish occupation, and ravens kept watch over 
them. The sacred relics were then conveyed with 
all reverence in a ship to Lisbon, by the King's 
command, but two ravens refused to be relieved from 
their high office, perched on the mast, and so escorted 
the saint on his last journey. Now two ravens, caged 
indeed, are still in attendance, and two ravens with 
a ship are embodied in the arms of Lisbon city. 
These sacred birds have since that time become 
responsible for many miracles, all of which are re- 
corded in a series of pictures on the thirteenth-century 
tiles, blue and white, which line the walls of the 
cathedral. Of late years the wonder-working power 
of the ravens has been less apparent ; but the old 
cathedral, hidden by scaffolding, still enshrines the 
saint ; prayers are breathed round his tomb, and on the 
Church's high feast-days volumes of glorious sound 
roll forth from the organ and flood the ancient 



( 

Lisbon, Cadeia do Limoeiro 73 

building, float round the massive masonry, over the 
throne from which Affonso, Portugal's first King, 
administered justice, call forth the spirit of worship 
of endless generations out of the stones, linger 
lovingly in the chapels where rest the mighty dead — 
and find answer in the croak of a raven. 

Out into the daylight, away from the deserted 
sanctuary, whither even divine music fails to draw 
present-day mortals, into the street which winds up 
to the castle. Just beyond the cathedral, to the right, 
stands a building with barred windows, through which 
come appeals for alms from prisoners, for this is a 
prison, the Cadeia do Limoeiro, which was once the 
Royal Palace of Moeda. Dom Fernando lived here ; 
he died in 1383. Dom Joao I., Master of the Order 
of Aviz, of whom more anon, here murdered Count 
d'Andeiro, lover of Queen Leonora, wife of Fernando L 
Dom Joao's children lived here also, and this was for 
a while called the Palace of the Infants. Dom Manoel 
installed the High Court of Justice here. Now 
ignominy clothes the place, and hapless prisoners 
stretch out begging hands through the iron gratings. 

A last short climb through narrow, squalid alleys, 
and a space opens out before us ; here, surrounded 
by strong walls and stout towers, stands Castello 
S. Jorge, called so in honour of England's patron 
saint, who inspired English knights to fight for the 
Cross against the Moors of Portugal. Little is left 



74 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

of Roman work, though here and there a trace shows 
through. The Moors, during four hundred years of 
occupation, added considerably to the strength and 
extent of this old stronghold ; the citadel is their work, 
and so are barbican and cistern. It was on the north 
side that the Crusaders gained access, through the 
heroism of one-man. Martin Moniz, 1 by some means 
unknown, induced the Moors to open the gate; he 
thrust his body into the opening, and was crushed 
to death when the defenders endeavoured to close 
the gate. But the gate would not close, Affonso's 
army forced their way in over Martins mangled body, 
and the Castello S. Jorge has been Portuguese ever 
since. 

The old castle still serves military purposes; troops 
are quartered here, and active Cacadores go about 
their business. They are well housed and well fed, 
and, it appears, not overworked, though no doubt 
they are trained to meet modern requirements. 

Walk round the ancient ramparts, and a glorious 
panorama lies at your feet. To northward you look 
to the far-away hills ; below you lies the busy city, 
with its two hundred churches, broad avenues, busy 
thoroughfares, and narrow alleys. To eastward on 
another height rise the twin towers of another ancient 
shrine, the Church of S. Vincente de Fora, originally 
raised by Dom Affonso Henriques after the taking 

1 The Portuguese Arnold von Winkelried. 



Lisbon, S* Vincente dc Fora 75 

of Lisbon. Then in 1582 Philip II. of Spain, I. of 
Portugal, caused the present building to be con- 
structed as see of the Cardinal-Patriarch of Lisbon. 
In the adjoining palace, the patriarchal residence, 
some glorious works of art have recently been dis- 
covered — two paintings in tryptich form, the work 
of Nunez Goncalves, a Portuguese painter of pre- 
Raphaelite days ; they represent scenes from the life 
of St. Vincent, and are great in design and beautiful 
in colour. 

Below are cloisters, and here, in a large, gloomy 
vault, rest the later monarchs and royal princes of 
Portugal. Dom Joao V. is the first in order ; a 
long reign his — from 1706 to 1750. Dom Pedro II., 
Emperor of Brazil, who died in 1891, and his wife 
Dona Theresa, lie here. Dom Carlos and his son 
Dom Luis Filippe rest here under wreaths of faded 
flowers, while the last King of Portugal lives in 
exile. 



CHAPTER IV 

FEW cities of Europe are so favourably situated 
as Lisbon, both for business and pleasure. The 
Tagus, opening out into a vast harbour immediately in 
front of the town, invites business, the equitable climate 
and pleasant surroundings conduce to enjoyment of life. 
No wonder then that, so fortunately situated and 
under such favourable conditions, Lisbon has devel- 
oped into the capital of the country ; its population, 
357,000, is more than double that of Oporto. 

The ordinary holiday-maker does not trouble his 
head about the details of commercial enterprise in the 
countries he visits. As a rule business seems much 
the same in any large town. At an early hour crowds 
of workmen fill the streets, trams, etc., and melt away 
into factories ; at a later hour the brain-workers hurry 
to their different offices. Between twelve and two these 
latter are to be seen again diving into restaurants, and 
at about five in the afternoon both classes of workers 
again fill the streets, dispersing by tram or train in 
various directions. 

Lisbon is no exception to this rule, the only 

76 




77 



Lisbon, Business Aspect 79 

difference being that there is not so much evidence 
of hurry as the northerner is used to. The business 
quarter lies all around Black Horse Square, which 
is plentifully sprinkled throughout the day with 
digagi gentlemen who evidently have no business 
and do not want any. This also may be seen in 
most large towns, but not everywhere will you 
find such a pleasant place to loaf in as this sun- 
bathed square, with the beautiful view over the broad 
harbour. Round three sides of the square are 
Government offices, and in the arcades under the 
offices, especially on the northern side, business is 
done in a leisurely manner. Banks, agencies, shops, 
line the streets that run from Black Horse Square to 
the Rocio and those at right angles to them. 
Business extends along the river-side and climbs up 
at least one hill, that on which stands the Place de 
Camoes, with the poet's statue looking down the 
broad Chiado, as the Rua Garrett is called by all but 
strangers to the place. Turning to the left, the Rua 
do Carmo leads down to the Rocio, where again much 
the same is to be seen as in Black Horse Square. 

But Lisbon has its picturesque business specialities, 
incorporated in what the intelligent traveller calls 
" types." The fish-wife has already been described; 
another interesting personage is the man who has 
turkeys, live ones, to sell, and drives them from house 
to house through the streets — a rather anxious task. 
5 



80 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Another sight peculiar to the city is that of cows, 
mostly black-and-white, also being taken from house 
to house, and milked on the doorstep while a poor 
little muzzled calf looks on unhappily. Goats, too, 
perambulate the streets in the same line of business 
— their progress is more eventful, but often wanting 
in dignity. Besides this peripatetic dairy business 
there are establishments called "vacharia," where more 
black-and-white cows are stabled in scrupulous 
cleanliness, ready to be milked at any time of day 
or night. 

Lisbon offers much the same forms of amusement 
as the traveller can get elsewhere on the Continent ; 
the only item which is not to be found anywhere else 
than here and in neighbouring Spain is the bull-fight, 
and that does not take place in winter. The inhabi- 
tants of Lisbon take their pleasure in driving or 
strolling round the Avenida da Liberdade, a very fine 
open place, which is beautiful when, at the beginning 
of April, the Judas-trees break into blossom. Cafes 
and restaurants are thronged by pleasure-seekers 
between five and seven of an evening. Another form 
of amusement, patronised by men only, is to stand in 
the doorway of one of the many shops in the Rua 
Aurea or the Rocio, and passively obstruct the 
passage of those who wish to enter for some legiti- 
mate purpose. 

There is no great choice of cafes. Martinho's, 



Lisbon Restaurants 81 

close to the Central Station, and looking down the 
Rocio, is about the best, and may rank as first- 
class. But it is very often quite deserted, and this 
reacts on would-be merry-makers. Even during 
carnival this restaurant, so advantageously situated, 
fails to draw anything like good custom, very pro- 
bably because there are so few of the good-customer 
class left. You may have dined as well as is possible in 
Lisbon (and the chef of the Braganga Hotel will make 
it possible if he meets with sufficient appreciation) ; 
you may have visited the Theatre Dona Maria, which 
blocks the north side of the Rocio, and with a 
carefully chosen party watched the carnival frolics 
from a box ; you may even have taken part in 
the rioting, firing paper darts by means of blowpipes, 
squirting scent out of tubes, and then, feeling ready 
for supper, have returned to Martinho's to find the 
large dining-hall upstairs empty, but for a sleepy 
waiter or two. 

Yet another restaurant, the claims of which to be 
of first-class rank may be admitted, is Tavares in the 
Rua de San Roque. The chef knows his business, 
and the management knows how to charge ; but the 
chief attraction, for some, rests in the row of little 
chambres sdpardes. It is only the intimate sound of 
the French phrase that appeals to the merry-maker 
who visits Tavares, for the little chambers are entirely 
without that subtle atmosphere, expressed in a know- 



82 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

ing touch here and there, which gives its meaning to 
the phrase chambre sdparde. 

There are cafes and restaurants in the business 
quarter of the town, some of them the favourite 
luncheon resorts of business men. Of these the 
most attractive-looking is the Lisbon, in the Rua 
San Juliao ; nearly opposite is the Electrico, also 
much frequented by Englishmen, and deservedly so ; 
yet further on in the same street the Cafe Oriental, 
which unostentatiously offers the best of cheer. Casual 
visitors to Lisbon seldom discover these little places 
of refreshment, where good food is to be had at very 
reasonable rates. Of an evening these restaurants are 
deserted, but life of a kind centres round others in 
the neighbourhood of the Hotel Central, cafes where 
the younger, giddier travellers see what they think 
is " life," to the sound of a well-meaning if mis- 
guided orchestra. 

The cinematograph is as popular in Lisbon as 
elsewhere ; the performances differ only in breadth 
of treatment from those to be seen in London, and 
attract full houses every evening. Other theatres are 
not so well attended. The Opera has had to close 
down altogether, owing to the absence of the Court 
and of those who lived thereby. The "Colyseu" 
gives opera occasionally — it is a large building, bare, 
and none too clean, occasionally also used as a circus. 
Here a Portuguese audience may be heard, not to 



Lisbon Theatres 83 

advantage, in untutored criticism, or in a still less 
pleasant applause. These manifestations, breaking 
out when in one of the older operas soprano and 
tenor have struggled through intricate duet up to 
their respective high notes, come almost as a relief; 
they are singularly irritating when interrupting the 
graceful flow of Puccini's artistic realism. 

A part of the same building offers food for 
reflection to the more serious-minded — the premises 
of the Geographical Society. Here it is possible to 
realise how great a part Portugal played in history. 
Stone pillars, which served as landmarks for the sea- 
farers down the coast of Africa, stand here, amidst 
trophies of war and peace, gathered from many 
lands. A large map shows the course pursued by 
those bold navigators who built up Portugal's colonial 
empire ; relics are here of — 

Arms and the heroes signalised in fame, 
Who from the western Lusitanian shore, 
Beyond e'en Taprobana, smiling came, 
O'er seas that ne'er had traversed been before ; 
Harassed with war and dangers without name, 
Beyond what seemed of human prowess bore, 
Raised a new kingdom midst a distant clime, 
Which afterwards they rendered so sublime. 1 

A glance at that big map shows that much of 
Portugal's former empire yet remains. There are the 
Cape Verde Islands, and Sao Thome\ off the coast of 

1 Camoes. 



84 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Africa, along which Bartholomeu Dias felt his way, 
till he reached the Great Fish River, where the coast- 
line bears from east to north-east. On the mainland 
along the route lies the Portuguese colony of Guinea ; 
then, beyond the point where Bartholomeu Dias went 
about, is the territory of Mozambique. Here, on 
March 2, 1498, Vasco da Gamas ships dropped 
anchor, and laid the foundations of yet another 
colony. Then, after some delay, Vasco da Gama 
sailed on to eastward, reached Calicut, and so paved 
the way for Portuguese expansion in India. Many 
of Portugal's colonial possessions have passed into 
other hands, yet, what with those already mentioned, 
with Goa, Macao, Taypas, Timor, and Kambing, 
over seventeen million people are subject to the 
new Republic which rules over ancient Lusitania 
with its five million souls. 

From Lisbon, as capital of Portugal, the remaining 
colonies are governed ; down by the Arsenal the 
Ministry of Marine directs the war fleet which serves 
Portuguese interests on those high-sea ways dis- 
covered by Portuguese mariners. Here in Lisbon 
is the brain that directs colonial operations and the 
policing of countries over-seas far larger than old 
Lusitania. Here are the headquarters of Portugal's 
armed forces, and here troops of all sorts are 
garrisoned. " Lanceiros," with fluttering red lance- 
pennants, lie out near Belem, another regiment of 



Lisbon, Military Matters 85 

cavalry lie close by. Both men and horses seem 
to be quite useful material, the latter of different 
breeds — -Portuguese horses with racy Arab heads, 
high, thick crest, and round rump, some marked 
with the brand of the royal stud at Alter. Spanish 
horses there are, much like the native breed, but 
coarser about the head ; Argentines that look better 
than they are ; with here and there an Irishman, 
often better than he looks. 

The men are well housed, well fed, and appear 
happy and content. Their dormitories are large and 
airy, every man has ample room about his bed ; 
above it on a shelf lie his accoutrements, his kit in 
a black leather knapsack, and under it his box, 
holding private property. The kitchens are scrupu- 
lously clean, the food is of good quality and plentiful, 
and, finally, amusement is provided in the form of 
games, football, quoits, etc., under an officer's super- 
vision. 

A great improvement in military matters is 
about to be introduced. Up till now it was usual 
for conscripts who could afford it to purchase a 
substitute for military service ; thus only the very 
poor filled the ranks of the army. Now every one, 
without distinction, will be obliged to serve his 
country if called upon to do so, and this will have 
far-reaching effects. It will raise the status of the 
soldier to the honourable position it merits, and will 



86 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

bring all classes together in a common bond of 
interest. The greatest value of this innovation lies 
in its educational possibilities. It should tend to 
stifle the individual egotism so strongly evident in 
the Portuguese of to-day — an egotism which, de- 
generated into petty personal vanity, has prevented 
many a man of capability from taking part in the 
public life of his country. This exaggerated, un- 
wholesome individualism has eaten into the heart of 
the nation, almost destroying the sense of solidarity 
which leads public-spirited men of other nations to 
devote some of their time and energy, at least, to 
the welfare of the community. If this decree anent 
military service has not come too late, it will do 
more than all the rhetoric of sages and poets, 
whether they stand as such openly before their 
fellows or go disguised as politicians ; it will do 
more than all revolutionary education, if it can still 
teach the rising generation that they belong to their 
country rather than their country to them, that they 
owe a duty, and should perform it, before claiming 
the full privileges of citizenship. 

Again, in Lisbon, as capital, centres that side 
of life described as " the Press." " The Press " is 
said to mirror the life of a nation, to express its 
many, varying opinions, to educate, to lead, in fact, 
to be all things to all men. Optimists among those 
whose labours are devoted to this mighty engine, 




CASCAES BAY. 
87 



Lisbon, the Press 89 

w the Press," will tell you that there are countries 
where this ideal is realised. They may, according 
to nationality, even name the happy country where 
such a state prevails, and lead trusting travellers into 
the dismal region of disappointment. There may 
be even in Portugal some such local optimists who 
find their " Press " performing all the miracles ex- 
pected of it ; who may assert that their " Press" has 
been impartial, fair, and inclined to lend an ear to every 
shade of opinion, since the Republic introduced Liberty 
into Portugal. Do not those very servants of the 
goddess Liberty, Ministers of the new and free Re- 
public, assist in the good work by influencing, each 
man, one or the other daily paper? That all these 
papers should happen to be of Republican spirit, 
that there no longer exists a publication representing 
the obsolete opinions that prevailed up to the 5th of 
October, 19 10, are no doubt facts which prove the 
fulfilment of " Press ideals." And as to the edu- 
cational value of the " Press"! Does it not describe 
in words, show in pictures, how bombs are manu- 
factured, how even the unlettered may fashion for- 
midable weapons to defend their newborn Liberty 
against " Law and Order " ? 

In spite of the " Equality" bred of Liberty, there are 
yet in Portugal those, not leaders of political thought, 
who stand above their fellows, and this by virtue of 
their own merits, aided by gifts of the gods. For 



90 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

here in Lisbon the artistic life of the nation is re- 
viving. For all such matters as ancient art in 
Portugal the traveller should turn to museums, such 
as that of the Fine Arts at Janellas Verdes, where 
there is much of artistic merit. There is sculpture, 
there are marvellous pieces of furniture, there are 
many pictures of very unequal value, there are 
drawings of much merit by Sequeira, a great Portu- 
guese artist of former days. But more interesting 
is the art of the present. Under that genial monarch, 
Dom Carlos, the art of painting took a new lease 
of life in Portugal. Dom Carlos, himself a master, 
encouraged others by his works ; Dona Amelia, 
his wife, has executed delicate little drawings, notably 
those illustrating a book describing the beauties of 
the Palace of Cintra. Under such influence others 
attained the recognition their skill and industry 
merited : Carlo Reis, whose palette glows with the 
colours with which the sun of Portugal decks the 
landscape, whose canvas shows a homely scene of 
Portuguese life or a stirring episode in his country's 
history ; Columbano Bordallo Pinheiro and his clever 
portraits, and others of the rising generation. Then 
a very ancient art, brought by the Moors into Portu- 
gal, lives again under the hands of Jorge Colaco, 
the art of making decorative tiles, " azuleja," 1 an art 

1 Derivation : Azulejo from Arab azzalujo, a word derived from 
zallaja, which means "united, bound together and plain, even," not from 
azul x meaning "blue," the prevalent colour, though old tiles and Jorge 



4 



Lisbon, Art, Painting, and Music 91 

which has recorded history — as in the palace at Cintra. 
There in the council-hall or hall of audience, where 
Dom Sebastiao assembled his council to consult on 
the subject of the expedition to Africa, a throne- 
like chair of azuleja, and a bench of the same — 
recall tales out of Holy Writ ; so also those in the 
cloisters of San Vincente. In humbler form they 
decorate Portuguese houses outside and in. In this 
artist's studio you may see tiles set up into pictures, 
showing vivid scenes of history or legend, knights and 
paladins, and charging squadrons of Arab horsemen. 

The musical life of the nation cannot be said to 
centre on the capital, as music, national music, is 
diffused all over the country, and Lisbon, during 
the concert season, offers much the same fare as 
other capitals. Modern Portuguese music is yet 
in its infancy, and does not promise anything parti- 
cularly interesting. 

The songs that are sung by the people have a 
peculiar charm of their own ; they are rather melan- 
choly, and some would be monotonous but for their 
subtle pathos. They are seldom to be found in 
print, and the accompaniment is generally left to 
the player's discretion. The words are frequently 

Colaco's work show many lovely colours. " O azulejo e uma expressao 
da alma Portugueza," Conde de Sabugosa, in O Paco de Cintra. 
Illustrated by Sua Magestade a Rainha A Senhora Dona Amelia. Azulejo 
is seen to best advantage at Cintra Palace, from genuine Arab in the Sala 
das Sereias and da Gale, to the modern ones of the Sala dos Brases and 
the bath. 



92 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

impromptu, as are those of the second song given 
on the opposite page. The first is also a love-song 
of the light-hearted student order. 

There is yet another feature of Portuguese life 
also to be witnessed in Lisbon which it is difficult to 
classify. It is either an art or an amusement, fre- 
quently a combination of both, though the seriousness 
of art preponderates in some instances — love-making. 

Love-making, unlike other arts, is in Portugal 
performed in public — it is this fact possibly which 
makes some performers regard it as amusement. The 
first steps are taken in very public places, during 
that apparently aimless perambulation of the Rua 
Aurea, the Rocio, the Avenida, of an afternoon. The 
cavaliers whose self-imposed task appears to be that 
of supporting the doorposts of tobacco-shops are 
really engaged in pursuit of this art, or amusement if 
you are pleased to term it so. They scan the damsels 
that pass by with the critical eye of a cavalry colonel 
inspecting remounts ; they take careful stock of all 
the many beauties paraded for inspection. When 
they find one who fulfils as many requirements as 
one poor mortal maiden may, Eros is permitted to 
light his torch, set fire to the gallant's ready affections, 
and irradiate the road to matrimony. It is a long 
and seemingly tedious road. The next step is an 
impassioned letter from the swain to the damsel ; if 
she be " willing," like Barkiss — and this is said to 



lit 



Cautige. 



j Quan - do corro pel - a en cos - ta, A ca - sa da minha 

| 1ST TIME. | | 2ND TIME. || 4» 



queri - da, Quan- da, Pe 



la pressa com que'a su - bo, 

| 1ST TIME. | | 2ND TIME. 



9=$ 



i 



Pa - rece - me u - ma des ci 

Quando corro pela encosta 
A casa de minha querida 
Pela pressa com que a subo 
Parece-me uma descida. 
Fado. ^ 



da! 



Pe 



dal 



Mas depois, a retirada 
Tenho tempo de sentir 
Que a tel en cost'a descer 
Custa mais do que a subir. 



I 



Os 



teus o - lhos s6a t&o ne - gros 



Como a nou - te mais ser - 



m 



| 1ST TIME. | j 2ND TIME. 




-9 W 

A - pe - sar de tan - to 



el - les nao ve - jo na • da 1 



— i-Vr 



m$mm 



sem el - les nao ve - jo 



nada ! 



Os teus olhos sao tao negros 
Como a noute mais serrada! 
Apesar de tanto escuro 
Sem elles nao vejo nada ! 



Translation. 
Thine eyes are as black 
As the darkest night 
Yet despite their darkness 
Without them I can see nothing. 



93 



94 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

be not unusual, meetings are arranged — not clan- 
destine, mind you, no " meet me by moonlight alone " ! 
The donna has most likely informed her cavalier, 
in a letter borne by quite the right sort of duenna, 
that she will be at her window at a certain time of 
an evening. The ardent swain then appears under 
the window, and breathes soft nothings up into the 
heaven that acts as setting to the twin stars he 
worships, has to breathe quite hard if the lady's 
chamber be on the third floor. The breathing turns 
to gurgling in rainy weather ; but is the dripping 
swain discouraged ? — never ! The lady urges him to 
withdraw, lest he catch his death of cold. " Then," 
quoth the lover, " there is nothing for me but the 
Alto de San Joao " (the cemetery) : " will you accom- 
pany me thither?" "Com muito gusto!" ("With 
the greatest pleasure "), from the gracious lady. 

You may call in the sister arts to attend your 
wooing — a mandoline or a guitar may prove helpful 
and add considerably to the entertainment of the 
neighbours ; but then you must play really well, if 
you do not wish to invite criticism. Mandoline and 
guitar are suitable only for starlit nights ; they are 
non-effective in the rain. It is also ill-advised to 
warble, or attempt to, with a cold in your head — 
the result is never satisfactory ; it again provokes 
criticism, even ridicule, and young love, being a 
tender plant, is like to die under such treatment. 



Lisbon, Love-making 95 

When the swain has at last secured the parents' 
invitation to enter the house, after much patient 
waiting under the windows, a condition called 
namoro links the lovers, and is expressed by their 
sitting close together, like love-birds, while family- 
life goes on undisturbed around them. The lady does 
not speak to any other man, not a near relation, 
under these circumstances, and it is to be supposed 
that the swain behaves in like manner to other 
ladies. 

The next move is " engagement," towards which 
the swain contributes no direct effort. He does 
not ask the parent's consent, but gets his mother to 
consult with his prospective mother-in-law. If he 
has no mother living, he entrusts this interesting 
mission to a sister, or a cousin, or an aunt, which- 
ever of these dear relations appears to be more 
liberally endowed with those useful qualities, peculiar 
to the sex, suitable to the occasion. 

If the ladies fail to agree, nothing more is said, 
and the same manoeuvres are executed in relation 
to some other damsel, beginning in the street, ending 
in the boudoir. If all is agreeably settled, marriage 
follows in due course ; then subsequent happiness 
depends not on the stars and the moonlight, nor on 
auxiliary Muses, but on a capacity for devoted co- 
operation, through severer trials than wet feet, until 
the journey ends at the "Alto de San Joao." 



CHAPTER V 

WHEELED traffic offers more variety in Lisbon 
than in many other capitals of Europe. 
Modern traffic is very much in evidence ; motor-cars 
of all makes hoot their way through crowds of 
leisurely pedestrians ; electric trams, turning sharp 
corners with grinding sound of wheels, urge stately 
coaches to give them free passage, by means of an 
emphatic bell. The coaches oblige, and with more 
expedition than do the pirate tram-cars, already 
described. These coaches are a link with the past. 
They rumble rather heavily over the stone pave- 
ment, drawn by horses decked out in a brave display 
of plated harness. The coachman is generally a 
typical Portuguese servant, with long side-whiskers, 
and he urges his steeds to high stepping rather 
than to speed. The horses are of the breed that 
figures in paintings of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries, having small heads and round rumps, wavy 
flowing tails, arched crests and waving manes, and so 
much action that pace has to suffer ; but dignity is 

maintained. Very imposing are funeral processions, 

96 




97 



Lisbon Traffic 99 

In very special cases the hearse is drawn by black 
high-stepping horses decked out in sable cloths, sable 
plumes waving between their ears. People of less 
importance take their last journey drawn by mules, 
generally grey ones ; they are not high -steppers, 
and long grey ears protruding loosely out of a black 
head-covering detract from the solemnity of the 
occasion. 

Yet more primitive vehicles roll through the 
streets of Lisbon, plain box-like carts on solid 
wooden wheels, of a design unchanged since Roman 
times. These carts have a talent, far more pro- 
nounced than that of the pirate tram, for getting 
in the way and impeding traffic ; the drivers are as 
impervious to objurgation as the oxen that draw 
these obstructive conveyances. 

These varied forms of vehicles make up the 
daily pageant of the streets. A yet more curious 
pageant of the kind awaits us as we hurry westward 
by electric tram along the Rua Vinte e Quatro 
de Julho, which, being interpreted, means the 24th of 
July, a day on which something important happened 
according to Portuguese opinion, but what it was 
the Holiday-maker has never discovered — no one 
he asked could tell him. 

The road leads westward towards the sea, and 
might well be more attractive, for much that could 
make it so is here. To right hand are occasional 
6 



ioo A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

open spaces, the Praca de Marquez Sa de Bandeira, 
Praca de D. Truiz, prettily laid out with grass- 
bordered flower-beds under palm trees and flowering 
shrubs ; but this is the only attempt to make the 
place attractive. Once a scheme was approved 
which would have made this unlovely road into a 
beautiful " Avenida," a beginning even was made, 
but the matter was dropped, and now waste spaces, 
disorder, dirt, unlovely sheds and stores act as 
broken foreground to the river and the hills beyond. 
No doubt others have thought the same on driving 
down the Rua Vinte e Quatro de Julho : goodly 
company has passed here: King Alfonso XIII. of 
Spain, and William II., German Emperor, both on 
their way to the Royal Palace of Belem, where 
till quite recently Royal visitors were lodged. The 
latter of these guests must surely have regretted 
such waste of space. What an opportunity offers 
here for a Portuguese " Sieges-All^e," with rows 
of statues of "everybody who was anybody!" 
Royal visits are probably a thing of the past since 
monarchy was swept out of Portugal ; so the Palace 
of Belem, built in 1700, and bought by King 
John V. from the Count of Aveiras, will have to 
content itself with memories of other days, while 
crumbling to decay under Republican auspices. 

There are other memories of King John V. 
in this neighbourhood. Close by the old palace 



Royal Coaches 101 

is a museum which contains a number of Royal 
coaches, many of which date from the reign of 
John V., 1706-50. There is one, for instance, 
presented by the Sovereign Pontiff to that king ; 
two others which were used for his nuptials 
with Princess Maria Sophia, of Neuburg; another 
stately coach conveyed D. Rodrigo de Menezes, as 
Ambassador to Rome, to visit Pope Clement XL, in 
the reign of King John V. This sovereign had got 
other coaches suitable for all occasions, and of these 
two are singularly fine specimens of the taste of that 
period. It was an acquired taste, borrowed from 
France, whose King, " Le Roi Soleil," Louis XIV., 
was the example King John V. of Portugal had 
ever before his eyes. The two coaches referred to 
are called triumphal coaches. 

The history of Portugal is unfortunately silent 
on the subject of this monarch's triumphs. His 
country was at peace with all the world during this 
reign of forty-four years, and was rich and prosperous, 
owing to the colonisation of Brazil. Perhaps it was 
the triumph of the arts of peace which had to be 
celebrated in processions of triumphal cars. Or were 
personal conquests thus recorded — battles of beaux 
yeux, so frequent in those pseudo-gallant days ? The 
carved and gilded figures on the triumphal cars are 
well suited to commemorate such victories. 

The gradual development of the coach is rather 



102 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

well illustrated in this museum. A coach which 
Dom Philip II. of Portugal, III. of Spain, left 
behind him is the oldest in the collection. The 
body of this vehicle is hung on huge leather straps 
instead of springs. It is furnished sumptuously 
within ; the seating is so arranged that there is 
room for two passengers on either side of the coach, 
as well as fore and after seats, so that all sat with 
their feet inside the well. Later coaches provided 
seats for servants on the footboard ; the leather straps 
were supplemented by springs, which finally, by the 
middle of the eighteenth century, were trusted with 
the sole support of the body of the coach. 

Harness of heavy leather, richly embossed, chased 
with gold or silver, hangs in glass cases round the 
walls of the museum. These exhibits are eloquent 
of travel in former days, of days when possibly the 
roads in Portugal were worse than they are to-day 
in places, when stout horses, six or eight in pairs, 
conveyed Royalty and dignitaries of Church or State 
on pompous business or leisurely pleasure. 

But a little farther, beyond this collection of 
coaches, sedan chairs, harness, and other relics of 
an age when Portugal appeared prosperous, but was 
really decadent, rises a memorial to the time of 
Portugal's greatness, the church and monastery of 
St. Mary of Belem (Bethlehem). It stands in its 
wonderful grace and beauty on the site of a more 



/ 




103 



1 

I 

I 

I 
I 

I 
i 



The Church of S* Jeronymos at Belem 105 

ancient building, the monastery and chapel of Our 
Lady of Restello, founded by Prince Henry the 
Navigator, and given to the Order of Christ, of 
which the Prince was Grand Master. 

Those were great days in the history of Portugal, 
the opening days of an epoch that brought about a 
gradual but complete change in the history of the 
world. Portugal had risen during three centuries of 
strife out of obscurity to a place in the council of 
nations. The work begun by Affonso I. in the 
first half of the twelfth century, the task of ridding 
Portugal of the Moors, carried on by successive 
sovereigns, was accomplished with the conquest of 
the Algarves when Affonso III. was King. 

Portugal then began to develop its resources, in 
peace, under King Diniz 1 the Farmer, who succeeded 
Affonso IV., till Fernando, last of the Alphonsian 
dynasty, died without male issue in 1383. His only 
daughter, Beatrize, had married John I., King of 
Castile, who now came to claim the throne of 
Portugal. But the Portuguese Cortes, assembled at 
Coimbra, took a step much in advance of the spirit 
of the time (or perhaps reminiscent of early Teuton 
influence), and, declaring the nation's right to choose 
its ruler, proclaimed King Pedro's bastard son, Dom 
Joao, Master of the Order of Avis, King of 
Portugal. 

1 Denis, Dionysius. 



io6 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Dom Joao beat the Spanish invader in several 
battles, and founded a new dynasty, which brought 
Portugal to the zenith of its fame, but ended in 
disaster. Dom Joao, King John I., married Philippa 
of Lancaster, John of Gaunt's daughter, who pre- 
sented him with four sons. Of these the most 
striking personality — at least, looking down the long 
vista of close on five centuries — was Henry the 
Navigator ; the least known of them was Affonso, 
Duke of Brazanga, the founder of the dynasty which 
severed its connection with Portugal when King 
Manuel II. fled before a revolted section of his 
people. 

The Moors had been driven from Portugal, yet 
the old crusading spirit lived on, burned fiercely, 
and urged the men of Portugal to carry the Cross 
yet farther. The sea that dashed against the rock- 
bound coast had no terrors for the generation which 
was beginning to feel the spirit of the Renaissance. 
The legends that hung round mysterious distant lands 
were becoming discredited by the results of voyages 
of discovery. The Canary Islands and Madeira 
emerged from the mist of legend to figure definitely 
on the careful charts, embellished still with drawings 
of fearsome monsters of the deep. The coast of 
Africa was becoming more familiar, and rumour 
spoke of yet more distant countries to which the 
adventurous sons of Portugal felt strongly drawn. 



Prince Henry the Navigator 107 

Foremost among these was Prince Henry the 
Navigator, Master of the Order of Christ, Duke 
of Vizeu, Lord of Covilha, and Governor of the 
Algarve. 

All these titles had Prince Henry earned by 
energy and devotion to duty since he won his spurs 
at the siege of Ceuta, the first stronghold wrested 
from the Moors in Africa. This may have given 
rise to thoughts of a Portuguese empire beyond 
the seas, may have given the Prince the line he 
followed without deviation. The powerful order of 
which he was Grand Master found the means 
necessary for further expeditions down the coast of 
Africa, for planting colonies and establishing factories, 
and from his chamber at Sagres, close by Cape St. 
Vincent, where the Atlantic seems to stretch away 
into eternity, Prince Henry ordered and guided these 
many enterprises. His work was continued after 
his death in 1460 by the Order of Christ. Stage 
by stage Portuguese mariners moved farther south 
along the coast of Africa. Eleven years after 
Prince Henry's death, Portuguese ships crossed the 
Equator; in 1482, when John II. reigned, Diego 
Cao reached the mouth of the Congo, and again 
in 1485 Cape Cross. Bartholomeu Dias carried 
the red cross of the Order of Christ round the 
Cape of Good Hope as far as the Great Fish River 
in 1487, and prepared the way for one yet greater, 



108 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Vasco da Gama, the hero of Portugal's great epic, 
the Lusiadas : 

I sing a daring Lusitanian name, 
O'er Neptune and o'er Mars to rule ordained ; 
Cease all the ancient Muse to sing was wont, 
For other valour wears a bolder front. 1 

Prince Henry, the Order of Christ, and their 
mariners had all contributed towards the great event 
about to happen. King John was succeeded by — 

Manoel, 

In kingdom, and in lofty thoughts likewise, 
Soon as he undertook the realm to guide, 
He undertook to rule the ocean wide. 1 

And, according to Camoes, who writes with the 
conviction of indisputable authority, King Manuel 
dreamt a dream — 

At the hour when daylight yields command, 
And all the glittering stars shine forth above, 
Inviting slumber as they circling move. 1 

In this dream Dom Manoel felt himself lifted far 
above the world to a place whence he could count 
many worlds and 

Nations of seeming strange and savage foes. 1 

He saw high mountains from which two deep rivers 
rose and took their course through forests where were 
many wild birds and beasts. Out of these rivers rose 

1 Camoes. 

I 



Vasco da Gama 109 

two old men, Indus and Ganges, who advanced 
towards the King and promised : 

If thy courage to the last be sound, 
With victories unseen, and without fear, 
Thou shalt lay bonds on all thou seest here. 1 

This happened when the King was holding his 
Court at Estremoz. He sent for his counsellors 
at once, as soon as he awoke, and discussed the 
dream. Its meaning was clear — all India was 
evidently waiting to be discovered and added to 
the possessions of Manoel the Fortunate. The next 
step was to find one suited to this great task. 
Estevao da Gama had already been proposed, but 
he was dead ; so Dom Manoel summoned the third 
son, Vasco da Gama, to meet him in audience at 
Montemor-o-Novo. Thus was Vasco da Gama en- 
trusted with a task the fulfilment of which brought 
him undying fame. He at once journeyed to Lisbon, 
carrying with him a silken banner, the red cross of 
the Order of Christ on a white field, a present from 
his King. Four ships were lying ready in the 
Tagus, the Sao Gabriel \ which Vasco da Gama chose 
as his flagship, her sister the Sao Raphael — small 
ships of not 200 tons each, though they made 
history — the Berrio, a caravel of 50 tons, and a 
storeship. 

On Friday, July 7, 1497, Vasco da Gama and 
1 Camoes. 



no A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

his captains kept vigil in the chapel of Our Lady 
of Belem till morning, then started in solemn pro- 
cession, escorted by priests and friars chanting litanies, 
to the river's edge, which was then much nearer the 
site of the church than it is to-day. The water's edge 
was probably nearer the middle of the gardens, with 
its masses of rose bushes and flowering shrubs, over 
which wave the graceful palm trees that form such an 
admirable setting to the church of S. Maria de 
Belem. 

By the river side the multitude knelt down to make 
a general confession, which was followed by absolu- 
tion for all those who might lose their lives in this 
venture. Then Vasco and his men embarked and 
sailed away, having — 

In fine, prepared the soul for death, 
Which ever stares the sailor in the eyes, 
And for the Power Supreme Who balanceth 
With reverend look alone the ethereal skies. 

Parting without the usual farewell, 

Which though of love a custom good and kind, 

Wounds more both him who goes, and stays behind. 1 

Thus Vasco da Gama set out from Belem ; one 
by one his white sails vanished from sight, and those 
whose tearful eyes had watched him part, returned 
home to their own affairs. 

But elsewhere Vasco da Gama's intent was arousing 

1 Camoes. 



Vasco da Gama in 



interest. The gods on high Olympus were in council. 
Jove spake : 

Eternal dwellers of the starry pole, 

And of this shining throne partakers all, 

If the great valour and the mighty soul 

Of Lusitania's people ye recall, 

Ye clearly know that by the Fates' control, 

By whose great, sure intent men rise and fall, 

To them must now, forgotten, all give place, 

The Assyrian, Persian, Greek, and Roman race. 1 

Jove evidently favoured the Portuguese, who had 
with such slender power wrested the country of the 
Tagus from the strong-armed Moor, a person quite 
incapable of even elementary polytheism, and who 
therefore sternly refused to recognise the gods of 
ancient Lusitania. Therefore stout Vasco and his 
men should meet with all encouragement, as now — 

In that fragile barque, 
Daring the doubtful sea, they take their course, 
And then, their purpose and their enterprise, 
To view the cradles whence the mornings rise. 1 

Perfect harmony seldom prevailed at the councils 
of the gods of old. Jupiter's authority was sometimes 
challenged, however freely he played his thunder- 
bolts; Minerva generally bored him, and certainly 
failed to sympathise with his views on several 
interesting questions. Venus was often suspected of 
being influenced by some intrigue, Mars invariably 

1 Camoes. 



ii2 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

voted, unreasoning, with Venus, and Bacchus, owing 
to his pleasant duties, was not always to be relied 
upon for a coherent statement of opinion. So on this 
occasion Bacchus expressed himself unfavourably 
towards the latest Portuguese venture. He was 
afraid that the Lusitanians would undermine his 
authority in India ; the Fates had said something to 
that effect. At Nisa, in that far country, people still 
sang his praises, but would they continue to do so 
when they were brought face to face with the good 
example of those sober mariners ? Certainly Bacchus 
was unreasonable, ungrateful, for Portuguese ships 
had already introduced the wines of Portugal to 
England and other countries, among nations prepared 
to worship Bacchus with a thirst which even the gods 
might envy. Venus, Bacchus, and Mars frequently 
combined for purposes of amusement and entertain- 
ment ; on this occasion, however, too important to 
admit of those courteous little concessions which were 
half the charm of Olympian society, Venus decided 
against Bacchus. She was well affected towards the 
Lusitanian race (and they reciprocate it to this day), 
for in their language she found but a slight corruption 
of the Latin tongue, and in their persons all the 
qualities of ancient Rome. Mars, ever faithful, 
supported Venus, not only swayed by his devotion, 
but moved by the merits of a valiant race. He 
further suggested that Mercury should guide the 




H3 



Vasco da Gama 115 

expedition, and show them the land where they 
would learn the course for India, and where the crews 
might recruit their force. This Jove approved of; 
Mercury received his orders, and the gods dispersed 
along the Milky Way, each on his course. 

Of the many adventures which befell Vasco da 
Gama and his gallant men, books have been written, 
full of learning and research, so learned, some of them, 
that really important items have been omitted. Not 
so in Camoes' great epic, and he lived so much 
nearer the days of that eventful voyage. In fact, 
Camoes undertook the voyage to India exactly 
twenty-nine years after Vasco da Gama, as Viceroy, 
had died at Cochin. It is also just possible that 
Camoes may have met one or other survivor of the 
first expedition, and have gained his information at 
first hand. There is mention of the Dorcades, where 
the three Gorgon sisters live ; they have one eye 
between them and use it in turn. Ulysses is said to 
have called on these ladies, and appears not to have 
behaved as gallantly as was his wont. 

Again, more recent chroniclers mention storms 
and tempests, just as if they were usual phenomena, 
whereas at least one of these had a very marked 
personality. It was Typhoes, one of the giants, 
whose favourite disguise was a tempest, a taste 
acquired when he and others made war against 
High Heaven. As far as he was concerned, this 



1 1 6 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

war was a purely personal matter. He had fallen 
in love with Venus, as many, wiser than he, 
have done before and since. He also declined to 
take " no " for a answer, and pursued the lady 
(who endeavoured to evade him) as far as the banks 
of the Euphrates. Here the Fishes came to the rescue: 
they carried Venus and her son to the farther bank, 
leaving the giant raging. He has raged frequently 
ever since, finding the waters that surge round the 
Cape of Good Hope more responsive to his call than 
others, and, like many another disappointed lover, he 
is ready to pour out his woes to any one who is 
pleased to listen, not being scared away by his fury. 
The Fishes were promoted for their meritorious 
action ; they are now included in the signs of the 
Zodiac, and wink slyly at each other when Typhoes 
rages down below, and bellows out his tale of woe for 
all the world to hear. The Fishes wink at each other, 
for they " know a thing or two." 

Many wonderful things those mariners saw — 
St. Elmo's fire, waterspouts, new constellations in 
the heavens — before the western Ghats loomed up 
against the morning, and the rising sun lit up the 
coast of India. 

Then Vasco da Gama set about the business of 
his King, and having accomplished all he could, set 
sail from Calicut on Wednesday, August 29, 1498. 
Troubles beset him frequently : at times he would lie 



Vasco da Gama 117 

becalmed for weeks ; again, fierce tempests took him 
far off his course. A fearful plague, scurvy, thinned 
the ranks of his crew, till there were not sufficient 
hands to work his ships, so the Sao Raphael had to 
be abandoned and was set on fire off the coast of 
Mozambique. At last, after many trials, Vasco da 
Gama returned to his country, made his triumphal 
entry on September 18, 1499, and brought to his 
royal master the assurance that Portugal was mistress 
of the sea-route to India. 

Then it was that Dom Manoel, whom men call 
the Fortunate, abandoned the additions he was making 
to Batalha Abbey, and set about the building of this 
church and convent at Belem. Batalha had till now 
been the epitome of the kingdom's history. The 
Abbey at Belem now takes its place. The chapel 
built by Prince Henry, who lies buried at Batalha, 
had to make way for this imposing structure ; the 
Knights of the Order of Christ were relegated by 
Dom Manoel to the church and monastery of Con- 
ceicao Velha, while monks of S. Jeronymos took 
possession of the new church, with its slender pillars, 
all wonderfully carved, its cloisters richly decorated in 
stone tracery resembling knotted ropes. So slender do 
these columns appear compared with the massive walls 
and roof, that when the scaffolding was removed, the 
King doubted their strength and ordered the architect, 
Juan de Castillo, to spend the night within the church. 



n8 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

The main entrance is by an archway richly adorned 
with sculptured groups, the Nativity, the Annuncia- 
tion, the Adoration of the Infant Christ, statues of 
Dom Manoel, St. Jerome, Queen Maria, wife of Dom 
Manoel, St. John the Baptist, and, on a column which 
divides the archway, a marble statue of Prince Henry. 
Splashes of colour, gold, crimson, blue, on walls and 
on the stone-paved floor, relieve the gloom, through 
which the delicate tracery of the supporting pillars 
comes to its proper value by degrees. The pillars, 
eight in number, lead up to the sculptured roof. The 
chancel dates from a different period, built by Queen 
Katherine, widow of John III., and both lie buried 
here. Near them lie Dom Manoel, and his wife 
Maria, and close by is the high altar, the " Mystery 
of Mysteries " contained in a shrine, elaborately 
fashioned, wrought out of the first silver brought to 
Portugal in the reign of Dom Joao III. This King's 
children are buried here, also the Cardinal-King Dom 
Henriques, and King Affbnso VI. 

Whereas S. Vincente had been made the Royal 
Pantheon, S. Jeronymos became the National Pan- 
theon. Here, under a graceful canopy of stone, 
lie the remains of Alessandro Herculano, historian, 
and one^the leaders of the Romantic movement in 
the Literature of Portugal. Joao de Deus, the poet 
of the eighteenth century, rests here, and so does 
brilliant Almeida Garrett, poet, statesman, orator. 




A COURTYARD IN THE PALACE OF CINTRA. 
119 



Vasco da Gama in 

Luiz de Camoes, Portugal's greatest poet, lies in 
this shadowy sanctuary ; he sang the deeds of bold 
adventure, and now lies under the same roof with 
Vasco da Gama. 

Vasco da Gama, who braved a thousand dangers for 
the honour and glory of his King and country, rests 
here, in this glorious shrine, dedicated by the monarch, 
whom men called Fortunate, in gratitude to "Him 
Whose way is on the sea, and Whose path is on the 
waters ; and Whose footsteps are not known." 



7 



CHAPTER VI 



SWIFT-RUNNING electric tram takes you 



^ to Belem ; to go yet farther afield, out to 
westward, where the Tagus flows into the sea, 
necessitates a train journey, and the line runs along 
the north bank from a station called Caes de Sodre, 
in the lower town, outwards to Cascaes. Two rates 
of speed are offered to the traveller — one by a very 
slow train, which stops everywhere along the line, 
the other by " rapido," so called rather for its good 
intent than for its actual speed. This train does not 
stop at every station, and is further distinguished by 
dispensing no third-class accommodation. For all 
that, it is pleasanter to take the less pretentious 
train, and to be carried gently and with frequent 
halts along one of the most beautiful stretches of 
coast scenery in Europe. 

The first part is the least attractive, owing to a 
talent for introducing discord into landscape which 
in the Lisbon municipal authorities almost amounts 
to genius. There is the broad river, but its banks 
are disfigured by ungainly sheds, tumble-down huts, 




122 



) 



Lisbon to Cascaes 123 

waste space, and dirt. In any other well-regulated 
city there would be a more extensive service of 
steamers, connecting places on both sides of the 
river, linking up the charming little towns that grow 
up on the rising ground to either hand. No other 
municipality surely would have allowed that glorious 
tower of Vasco da Gama at Belem to blacken under 
the smoke of gasworks grouped hideously behind it ! 

Nature has been more than usually bountiful here, 
and as we move westward she asserts herself more 
and more. Pine groves grow up from among the 
houses, palms wave gracefully in the gentle breeze 
from the western sea, old forts with quaint little pepper- 
box turrets stand out on the rocky headlands above 
stretches of golden sand, among them the Torre de 
San Juliao, which commanded the bar in the days 
when to send round shot some five hundred yards 
with anything like accuracy was accounted a great 
achievement. 

By degrees we approach the gem of this lovely 
coast, Mount Estoril. Mount Estoril, the centre of 
a group of pleasant sea-side resorts, rises oat of a 
forest of pines, palms, and evergreens of many 
varieties on the gentle heights that enclose an azure 
bay. Here no rude north wind swoops down to 
search out the weak spots in human constitutions. 
Here is glowing glorious colour called forth by 
sunshine ; masses of pink geranium run riot over 



124 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

garden walls, roses blow here in sweet profusion, and 
the mimosa adds its delicate perfume to the scent 
of pines, borne on the breeze that plays among the 
trees of Palmella Park. Here, too, are good hotels — 
the Italie, for instance, with its tennis-courts and 
other attractions that make for holiday. Then the 
broad sands, a paradise for children, fringed here 
and there with masses of rock, hiding little pools 
of limpid water, where are strange animals and plants 
which give an inkling of deep-sea mysteries. From 
among the pine trees a holiday-maker may catch 
glimpses of delightful views — to westward over the 
red roofs of Cascaes with its old fort, round which 
surges the heavy swell of the Atlantic Ocean, or 
to southward over the sea towards Cape Espichel, 
with its faint line of sand. Here are peace and 
contentment. 

A broad white road lined with palm trees leads 
along the road to Cascaes, where, in the old fort 
with its avenue of palm trees, a kings palace stands 
neglected. Sheltered by the fort is a tiny harbour ; 
quaint old-world fishing-boats, painted in bright 
colours, some adorned with an eye on either bow, 
come in here of a morning, and lie up on the golden 
sand until the fishermen feel disposed to go out 
again. A peaceful scene, and very beautiful, seen 
from the esplanade of Cascaes fort — the avenue of 
palms, their graceful leaves glinting in the sunlight 



Cascaes 125 

as the breath of the ocean stirs them to answer with 
a gentle rustling sound, the lazy swirl of waters, 
blue and green, against the massive masonry and 
on the sunny beach ; smoke rising from a chimney 
here and there, a slender column gently swayed by 
the breeze ; houses, white, ochre, or pink, their red 
roofs standing out against a dark background of 
pines and eucalyptus, which add their whispering 
voices to the soothing harmony, and, behind all, 
the broken ridge of the mountains, the Serra of 
Cintra. Peace seems to have settled here, peace 
of ages, and so deep that it is difficult to imagine 
any human influence strong enough to break it. 
But Cascaes harbour has borne its share in warlike 
undertakings; so in 1578 the little harbour was 
thronged with warriors, German and English mer- 
cenaries, the latter under the Earl of Leinster. 
They embarked here to join the last disastrous 
crusade which King Sebastian undertook against 
the Moors of Morocco. 

Peace there is at Cascaes to-day, but not con- 
tentment, for there are many here loyal to Dom 
Manoel II., mourning his absence. 

The broad white road leads on due west, through 
pine groves, past stately mansions, across a stream 
that goes out between the rocks to meet the sea, 
till a distant roaring sound, becoming more and 
more insistent, drowns the voice of the breeze as 



126 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

it whispers to the trees. A bold mass of rock has 
withstood the onslaught of Atlantic breakers for 
untold centuries ; but it has suffered, for the waves 
have forced their way in and fashioned a huge cavity, 
where the waters seethe and swirl and greedily lick 
the smooth surface of the boulders. This is the 
Bocco do Inferno (the Mouth of Hell), a mighty 
contrast to the smooth, gleaming ocean without and 
the sunshine and verdure on shore. 

The undulating country inland shows plentiful 
signs of cultivation — fields and groves enclosed by 
stone walls, with here and there a white-washed, 
red-roofed homestead. There are also deep rocky 
ravines hiding floral treasures, orchids of many 
kinds, one so fashioned that its chalice looks like 
a bee, and is called " Ophrys " by the learned. 
Below in the ravine is a tiny stream making its 
way to the sea ; it tinkles over the rocks, and asks 
its way of the iris that grows by the banks. Then 
it rests for a while in some shaded hollow, and 
here tall arum lilies gleam over their rich, shining 
leaves ; but it wanders on, passes through the haunts 
of men, and proves useful to those of cleanly habits. 

Despite revolutions and rumours of further 
troubles, the little streams find the haunts of men 
sufficiently peaceful, very different from times not so 
long ago. For up among the mountains, where 
the little streams rise, among the spurs of the Serra 



The Cork Convent 127 

of Cintra, things have happened which incline 
them to avoid the company of man. Hereabouts 
is Ramalhao, where a wicked lady lived — a lady of 
high degree, Dona Carlotta Joachina, Infanta of 
Spain, and wife of King John VI. Her favourite 
pastime was conspiracy, against her husband chiefly, 
but she indulged in other forms of wickedness which 
need not be mentioned, as they should certainly not 
enter into a holiday scheme. 

The little streams glide shyly out of hidden 
nooks in the Serra of Cintra, from under tall pine 
trees, from out of tangled undergrowth, from among 
ferns and blue-eyed periwinkles. They are fed by 
the clouds that crown the high peaks of the serra, 
the Serra of Cintra, which arrests those clouds that 
come up from the sea, and holds them, so that Mount 
Estoril and its azure coast may bask in sunshine. 

The stern Serra of Cintra is covered on the north 
side with dense woods of pines and cork trees, chest- 
nuts and oaks, the trees decked with grey lichen, 
and everywhere a soft carpet of moss and profusion 
of flowers and ferns. Hidden away among giant 
trees are old houses, palaces, monasteries. Of these 
latter the most interesting is one built by the ancient 
Order of Franciscans. Don Alvaro de Castro, the 
son of a Viceroy of India, founded it in the sixteenth 
century. Englishmen generally call this the Cork 
Convent ; giant cork trees whose bark has never 



128 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

felt the knife guard the entrance, and the cells are lined 
with cork wood, as protection against the damp — 
such very narrow cells built into the crevices between 
huge rocks. Little paths lead through the dense 
vegetation, connecting ruined shrines, Stations of the 
Cross ; and here and there an opening among the 
branches shows a glorious view over the low-lying, 
undulating country, far away out to sea. The eye 
travels out towards Cape Roca and the imposing 
mass of rocks called Pedra de Alvidrar. Then to 
northward, farther along the coast-line, is a lovely 
bay, Praia das Magas, a semi-circle of golden sand, 
with here and there piles of rock, and round it on 
the sand-dunes a fringe of pine trees. Pine trees, 
singly and in groups, line the road along which 
runs the electric tram from Praia das Macjis to 
Cintra, the city of palaces, from which the mountain 
range derives its name. Above the pine trees rise 
gentle heights, dotted with white buildings standing 
among vineyards and orange groves. Here is 
Collares, famous for its wines, both red and white, 
and beyond and above all the imposing masses of 
the Serra — rocky ridges crowned with castles, capped 
with clouds, rising out of forests of oak and pine, 
cork trees and eucalyptus, and many other sylvan 
varieties, and, clinging to the lower reaches, the 
ancient city of Cintra. 

The town groups itself picturesquely round a 



Cintra 131 

royal palace, which stands up against the dark 
background of deep green pines and blue-grey rock ; 
its two tall chimneys, white and bottle-shaped, strike 
a strange note, but not discordant, in this impressive 
harmony. Here, too, the history of Cintra is centred. 
Some say that Celts were the first to settle here, 
and it is certainly just the kind of site those lovers 
of Nature would have chosen. The Romans came 
and found here a position suitable for a stronghold ; 
they took possession, and called this place Mons 
Lunae, obliterating the former Celtic name. Alanni, 
Suevi, Goths followed, but the last named had to yield 
to the Moors, under whom Cintra became a strong 
outpost of Lisbon. During this period the life of 
Cintra centred round the promontory on which stands 
the royal palace, and Dom Affonso Henriques found 
a flourishing township here when, in 1147, he took 
Cintra on his victorious way. Twice before Cintra 
had been taken from the Moors, first by King 
Affonso VI. of Castile in 1093, tnen DV Count Henry 
of Burgundy in 1109. 

Nothing is known of the origin of whatever 
buildings occupied the site of this palace in the days 
of Moorish domination, but many traces remain of 
that graceful fantasy which inspired Moorish work, 
and which to this day influences the decorative art 
of Portugal. No doubt the original building was the 
palace of some Moorish Vali — it must have suffered 



132 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

much in successive sieges and assaults ; of the building 
which Dom Affonso Henriques erected little, if any- 
thing, remains. Traces and memories of Moorish 
art remain, and learned archaeologists deem that the 
mosaic floor of the chapel, once a mosque, dates 
back to the days before the Cross replaced the 
Crescent. A faint memory lingers yet in such names 
as the " Terreiro de Mecca" and the " Jardim da 
Lindaraya" (Lovely Queen), with its counterpart in 
the " Mirador de Lindaraxa" at the Alhambra, re- 
miniscent of the days of " Al Cacar " (the Palace) of 
" Chintra." 

The castle of Dom Affonso Henriques was given 
by him to Gualdim Paes, Grand Master of the Order 
of Templars, and on the suppression of that military- 
monastic body was handed over to their successors, 
the Knights of the Order of Christ, by King Denis, 
or Dom Diniz, as he was called in his own country. 
The Knights conceded the castle to the Queen 
Isabella, the saint, wife of King Denis, and it has 
ever since been reserved for the Queen for life. 

The royal palace of Cintra did not enter largely 
into the history of Portugal until John L had over- 
come his enemies and had made good his claim to 
the Crown by the victory of Aljubarrota in 1385. 
Two years later he married Philippa of Lancaster, 
daughter of John of Gaunt, and entered into an 
alliance with England. Philippa longed for the cool 



Cintra 133 

air, the mists of her native land, so gallant King 
John bethought him of Cintra and had the ancient 
palace rebuilt. Though the Moors had been expelled 
from Portugal, many lingered yet, and kings and 
nobles were in the habit of employing skilled Moorish 
craftsmen in the construction and decoration of castles 
and palaces. This probably accounts for the Ara- 
besque aspect of much in the palace of Cintra. 
There are other decorations not of that order, and 
of these one tells a pretty little story. King John I., 
as already stated, was a gallant gentleman, with a 
keen eye for a pretty face or a neat ankle. There 
was the black-eyed daughter of Barbadao de Veiros, 
for instance. He was perhaps more lenient to him- 
self than to others in such matters, for he objected 
to the philandering of Count de Andeiro with Leonora 
Telles, wife of his half-brother and predecessor, 
Fernando I. ; in fact, he killed the Count. Then 
there was that little affair with the lovely daughter 
of Mendo Guarde. All this, of course, happened 
before he married Philippa. It was certainly most 
unfortunate that she should have entered the room 
just as he was kissing a pretty little lady of the 
Court. However, the King genially quoted the last 
two words of a motto he and Philippa had devised, 
" II me plet [plait] por bem," meaning much the 
same as the motto of the Garter, and the Queen was 
pleased to take the incident " por bem " in good 



134 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

part. But courtly tongues began to wag, and a 
pretty little scandal was ripening, so the King caused 
the room where this touching incident occurred to 
be painted all over with magpies, each bearing in 
its beak a scroll with the device " Por bem!" 

Another quaint scene was enacted at Cintra in 
the reign of King John I. He had sent a captain, 
Affonso Furtado, and a priest, ostensibly to offer the 
hand of his son Dom Pedro to the King of Sicily's 
daughter. These two actually had orders to proceed 
to Ceuta in order to spy out all they could about 
the approach to the port, the anchorage, and such 
important matter. Dom Pedro's hand was declined 
by the King of Sicily's daughter. As to the other 
part of their mission, the captain told of a prophecy 
he had heard from an old Moor, to the effect that 
the son of a king called John would be the first 
to land in Africa, and that he would greatly disturb 
the Moors. The King, being a practical soldier, 
laughed at the captain's story, and was probably 
not much impressed when, on turning to the prior 
for information, the latter asked for two loads of 
sand, a coil of string, and seven pints of fava 
(beans). The prior locked himself into a room with 
these stores for a while, then requested the King 
to come and inspect the fruits of his labour — a raised 
plan of the harbour, the sand so disposed as to 
represent the mountains of Almina, the string to 



Cintra 135 

mark the outlines of the walls, the beans to show 
the position of the houses. Forty-eight years later 
Affonso V., and Fernando his brother, Duke of 
Vizeu, grandchildren of John I., inaugurated a cam- 
paign against the Moors in Africa. 

Cintra saw little of King Edward, Dom Duarte, 
son of John I. ; his was a short and troubled reign, 
as Guedelha, a Jew, his physician and astrologer, had 
foretold. Trouble continued when Affonso V., his 
son, succeeded at the age of five. Affonso was born 
in the palace of Cintra, in the room between the 
garden of Lindaraya and the Terreiro de Mecca, 
called by the historian, Abbott de Castro, the room 
of the sisters. The old walls and precincts of the 
palace witnessed Affonso's unhappy childhood, ren- 
dered so by the strife between his mother, Dona 
Leonor, a Princess of Aragon, and his uncle, Pedro, 
Duke of Coimbra. Dom Duarte had left the tutelage 
of his infant son in Leonor's hands, but she was 
very unpopular, and constant intrigues distressed the 
land. When eventually open tumult broke out in 
Lisbon, caused by the Queen's hostility to Dom 
Pedro, the latter, acting on the advice of his elder 
brother John, the Grand Master of the Order of 
Santiago, assumed the Regency, leaving the Queen 
to brood over her wrongs at Cintra. From here she 
tried to bribe John by offering the young King's 
hand to John's daughter ; she tried to persuade Dom 



136 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Henrique, yet another of her brothers-in-law, that 
Pedro sought to kill her ; she endeavoured to draw 
her brother of Aragon and the Queen of Castile into 
the quarrel — in fact, did all she could to make the 
life of her son unhappy. As may be imagined, 
matters were not improved when, at the age of 
fifteen, Affonso married Isabel, daughter of his uncle, 
Dom Pedro, Regent of the Realm. Poor little lady, 
hers was a most unhappy life. She tried to bring 
about a reconciliation between her young husband 
and her father, but only succeeded in aggravating the 
bitter feeling of the Court at Cintra against herself. 
By means of infamous slanders, the adherents of 
Queen Leonor, even the priests, intrigued against 
the poor child, and attempted to separate the little 
couple. But she was happy at least in the love of 
her young husband, cultured and chivalrous, and he 
mourned her deeply when she died, after eight years 
of married life. 

In the meantime Affonso, who had attained his 
majority some years before, had developed a passion 
for extending the dominions of Portugal over-seas by 
conquests in Africa. In spite of the many difficulties 
his dream was beginning to be realised. Portuguese 
navigators, directed by Prince Henry, were beginning 
to feel their way down the west coast of Africa, and 
when Affonso was only twelve years of age a Bull of 
Pope Nicolas V. had conceded the right over all 



Gntra 137 

discoveries along that coast to the King's sailor 
uncle. 

Afifonso had yet another ambition, namely, to unite 
the crowns of Portugal and Castile. To this end he 
married Joanna of Castile, but she gave him no 
children, so he tried to attain his end by other means 
and got into a good deal of trouble in consequence. 
Towards the end Afifonso became very weary of the 
crown and had a mind to enter the monastery of 
Varatojo, leaving the affairs of State in the capable 
hands of his and Isabel's son John. But he fell 
sick of a fever before setting out for Varatojo, and 
died in the room in which he was born, surrounded by 
his family. 

Dom Joao had hurried to the King's deathbed, and 
had come just in time to delight his father's sight once 
more ; he now took up the reins of government. He 
was well prepared for his task, for he had acted as 
Regent during a visit Dom AfTonso had paid to the 
King of France. His advent to power was hailed 
with delight, for people called him the " Perfect 
Prince." 

Cintra appeared in gayest mood for the crowning 
of the Perfect Prince. Glittering crowds of nobles 
acclaimed the King, as the Herald, from a mound in 
the palace yard, called out ' 'Real! Real! Real!" 
Everything promised well during the enthusiastically 
attended ceremony. But it was not long before a 



I 



138 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

strong undercurrent, flowing in an opposite direction, 
made itself felt. At the Cortes of Evora it was 
decided to reclaim the gifts given to nobles for their 
assistance at the battle of Alfarrobeira, during the civil 
war between Affonso V. and his uncle Pedro. This 
annoyed many of the nobles and they rose in revolt 
against the King, headed by the Bishop of Evora, who, 
by the way, was in love with a lady called Tinoco. 
However, a judicious number of executions settled 
matters, and the King could turn his attention to other 
questions. These were mostly concerned with dis- 
coveries ; five years after Dom Joao II. came to 
the throne, Bartholomeu Dias sailed away to double 
the Cape of Good Hope, and prepared the way 
for the discovery of India by Vasco da Gama. 

Cintra saw a good deal of the royal family when 
John II. was King, for he and his Queen loved its 
many beauties, and the temperate climate suited his 
delicate son Affonso. So that many acts of State 
originated at Cintra, among them one which tends to 
show the spirit of the age. 

Ferdinand and Isabella reigned over Spain, united 
into one kingdom by the union of their Most Catholic 
Majesties. This proud title they earned as reward for 
, introducing, or sanctioning, an institution which strik- 
ingly illustrated Christian charity and Christian zeal — 
the Inquisition. It incidentally ruined Spain, to the 
greater glory of God. This form of madness is 



139 



Gntra 141 

generally started by some wholly irresponsible fanatic, 
generally a priest or monk of sorts, and Spain at this 
moment produced Fra Thomaz de Torquemada. The 
first act of faith was the persecution of the Jews ; it 
was an obvious duty — besides, there is sometimes 
method even in religious madness, and attention was 
first directed towards the Jews because they were able 
to pay. And they offered to pay 30,000 ducats for 
permission to live in Spain. It was a tempting offer. 
Ferdinand and Isabel sat deliberating when Torque- 
mada rushed in and made a hideous scene. No doubt 
he referred to the pecuniary transactions between 
Judas Iscariotand the High Priest ; he possibly quoted 
stern sayings from the Book which those he persecuted 
had inherited from their fathers — sayings breathing 
wrath and vengeance : and yet one little verse from 
the life story of the Gentle Saviour, in whose name 
Torquemada raved, might have prevented foul injustice 
and the decline of Spain. 

As result of Torquemadas influence over their 
Most Catholic Majesties, the Jews, numbering 56,000, 
were expelled from Spain. Some went to Italy, where 
20,000 died of the plague at Naples ; others migrated 
to France, to England, to the Netherlands ; many 
found their way to Turkey, where their descendants 
flourish still. They still retain the language of the 
country that ill-treated them, in obsolete form, and 
they write it in the Hebrew script. A large number 
8 



14 2 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

of these homeless children of Israel wished to settle in 
Portugal, and offered King John II. a large sum of 
money for permission to do so. At a Council held in 
the palace of Cintra, the King, for reasons of State, 
which probably meant impecuniosity, decided to allow 
the wanderers to enter Portugal, and to sojourn there 
for eight months, before they set out for Africa. 
For this consideration he charged eight cruzados a 
head. 

A pleasanter reminiscence of the palace of Cintra 
is that of a gracious action on the part of the " Perfect 
Prince." French pirates had robbed several rich 
Venetian galleys off the coast of Portugal, and the 
captains of these vessels had landed at Cascaes. They 
were entertained by a gentle lady, Dona Maria de 
Menezes, Condessa de Monte Santo, and then sent to 
Cintra to lay their plaint before the King. Dom Joao 
was from home, but Queen Leonor treated the sea- 
men well until the King's return from Alcobaga ; then, 
before the monarch would receive them, he insisted 
on their being provided with the most sumptuous 
apparel the royal palace could provide. This kindly 
action established the best possible relations between 
Portugal and the Republic of Venice. 

Another scene which had its setting at Cintra 
deserves to be recorded. King John, although by no 
means an old man, began to feel the burden of his 
cares severely ; most of all was he affected by the 



Cintra 143 

sudden death of his son and heir Afifonso. He decided 
on a pilgrimage to a small hermitage on the spot where 
now the palace of the Pena stands. It was not a long 
way, but there was no broad carriage road leading to 
it as there is to-day. The cavalcade, consisting of 
the King and Queen and their Court, set out on foot 
along the rugged, stony path that led upwards to the 
retreat of the pious hermit. Here the Court camped 
out around the hermitage while the King and Queen 
withdrew into seclusion for eleven days. 

The death of Dom Afifonso, heir-apparent to the 
throne of Portugal, preceding the decease of his 
father King John II., brought into the succession a 
prince who had at the outset no likelihood of wearing 
the crown. A son of Dom Duarte's second son 
Fernando, Duke of Vizeu, murdered at Setubal, 
Dom Manoel was perhaps the most striking per- 
sonality among that long line of rulers which began 
with King John I., the dynasty of the House of 
Aviz. Men called Dom Manoel " O Fortunato," 
"the Fortunate," and certainly under his rule 
Portugal rose to high estate among the nations of 
the world. In person Dom Manoel was distinguished 
for his extraordinary strength and agility, due to 
hard training. His arms were so long that when 
dropped by his side his extended fingers reached 
below the knee. 

He kept his features under strict control ; even 



144 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

his green eyes were never allowed to show emotion, 
though they once filled with tears, when news of 
the death of Miguel, his son, was brought to Cintra. 
Dom Manoel revived the ambition of bringing the 
kingdoms of Portugal and Spain under one sceptre, 
but all his schemes failed. They were finally realised, 
but for a time, through the extinction of his house, 
due to constant intermarriage designed to bring about 
his object. 

Yet the courts and chambers of Cintra Palace 
rang with the sounds of jousting and merrymaking, 
music and dancing, and men spoke of Dom Manoel 
o Fortunato. Great events crowded into the reign 
of this monarch. Vasco da Gama opened out the 
royal road to India, following in the wake of 
Bartholomeu Dias, in 1498. King Manuel would 
look out over the sea from the small hermitage of 
the Pena, wondering how his Indian fleet was faring. 
In memory of anxious moments spent upon that 
rocky height, the King caused a chapel to be built 
there, the chapel round which the present castle 
arose at a much later date. In 1500 Pedro Alvares 
Cabral rediscovered Brazil and claimed it for 
Portugal. Two years later Vasco da Gama again 
journeyed to India, where one conquest followed 
another. Cochin was fortified and gallantly defended 
by Duarte Pacheco. Dom Francisco de Almeida 
was appointed first governor of Portuguese India, 





i45 



Cintra 147 

and the east coast of Africa was occupied with 
strongholds at Kilwa, Mombasa, and Sofala. Almeida 
carried the blue-and-white flag of Portugal to the 
northern shores of the Indian Ocean and defeated 
an Egyptian fleet off Diu. Then Albuquerque 
succeeded to Almeida, who was killed by Hottentots 
on the south-east coast of Africa. Albuquerque added 
Goa to the Portuguese dominions in India, sailed 
farther eastward and captured Malacca and visited 
the Moluccas, while Duarte Fernandes went as 
Manuel's ambassador to Siam in 151 2, and four 
years later Fernao Pires de Andrade visited China. 
News of all these stirring events reached Cintra, 
where, amidst the revelry of a gay Court, King 
Manuel ordered affairs to serve his personal ambition. 

On coming to the throne King Manuel married 
Isabel of Aragon, widow of Dom Affonso, son of 
John II. It is said that he fell in love with this 
lady while escorting her from Spain, whence she 
came to marry the then heir-apparent. To please 
her he expelled the Jews and the remaining Moors. 
When Isabel died, King Manuel married her sister 
Maria, and she in turn was succeeded by Leonor, 
niece of his former wives and sister of the Emperor 
Charles V. So there were great rejoicings, and 
constant festivities in the palace of Cintra, and the 
ladies of the Court looked down from the window of 
the Sala de Cysnes, the Hall of the Swans, upon 



148 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

the courtyard thronged with arriving or departing 
guests. 

Portugal was great in those days when all Europe 
was shaking off the trammels of the Middle Ages in 
the Renaissance, and Dom Manoel was well suited to 
the spirit of the age which inspired his contem- 
poraries. There was Henry VIII. of England and 
his rival the chivalrous Francis I. of France. 
Charles V. succeeded his father the knightly Maxi- 
milian, and, thanks to the discoveries of Columbus, 
Magelhan, and Cortes, reigned over a vast empire. 
Holbein was born shortly after Dom Manoel's 
accession, and two years later, in 1499, Leonardo 
da Vinci painted his " Last Supper." Michel- 
angelo's titanic decorations of the Sistine Chapel 
date from this period, Raphael painted the Stanze 
in the Vatican, and Titian his " Sacred and Profane 
Love," while Manuel gave rise to the gorgeous 
style of architecture which is still named after him. 
A change came over the Old World in those days, 
the ferment of new life as the art of printing opened 
the minds of men. Then Machiavelli composed his 
famous definition of a Perfect Prince. Luther hurled 
defiance at that proud Medici, Pope Leo X., and 
the fiery zeal of Francis de Xavier carried the Cross 
to distant eastern lands, the wonders of which were 
told in Portugal and added to the decorative scheme 
of Christian churches. 



Cintra 149 

And Dom Manoel would retire from time to time 
to the height where the Pena stands, and would look 
out to sea and mourn for the loss of Miguel his son, 
whose birth caused the death of the woman he loved, 
Isabella, Infanta of Aragon. 

Dom Manoel o Fortunato died and was followed 
by his and Maria's son John III. This King was 
in many ways unlike his father : he was intellectually 
limited and cared not for the graceful Arts ; he was 
bodily defective owing to a fall in infancy, and had 
no love for sport and manly exercises. Even his 
love affairs were colourless. As heir-apparent he was 
minded to marry Leonor of Austria, who, by the 
way, was originally meant for him. But Dom 
Manoel thought fit to marry her, and she became 
his stepmother instead. Nevertheless on his father's 
death King John III. proposed to carry out his 
original intention ; but a third person intervened, 
one Christovao Barroso, Portugal's ambassador at 
the Court of Austria, who had fallen passionately in 
love with Queen Leonor, and therefore poisoned 
the mind of her brother, Emperor Charles V., against 
King John of Portugal, his master. Christovao 
Barroso ended on the galleys, Queen Leonor 
married Francis I. of France, and Dom Joao married 
Catherine, another sister of Charles V. 

Dom Joao III. did little for the greatness of his 
country and his foreign dominions ; the Indian 



i5° A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

possessions, after Vasco da Gama died there as 
Viceroy, became the happy hunting-ground of 
adventurers who extracted what they could from 
the country in order to squander it at home. The 
Jesuits were introduced into Portugal, and seven 
years later, in 1547, the Inquisition was definitely 
established and even carried to India, where, 
especially in Goa, the Hindus were persecuted 
horribly. Although the power of Portugal had 
spread as far as Japan during this reign, the decline 
of the Portuguese Empire had already begun, and 
continued under the rival regencies of Queen 
Catherine and Cardinal Dom Henrique, Dom Joao's 
youngest brother. Almost the only memory of that 
King's reign is a little winding staircase which leads 
up to the Sala dos Archeiros, in the palace of 
Cintra. 

King John III. married his son John to Joanna, 
daughter of Charles V., his niece by marriage, and 
their son Sebastian succeeded, to be entrusted with 
the government of the realm at the age of 
fourteen. 

Dom Sebastiao loved Cintra, and as he wandered 
about under the forest trees would dream of con- 
quest. With an unbalanced mind, and susceptible 
to every influence, the young King was often led 
to foolish actions. One day he rode over to 
the Cork convent, where, at a stone table by a 



Qntra 151 

fountain, both of which still exist, he was wont to 
take his lunch. Dom Sebastiao was a pious soul, 
so he attended mass that day, as usual, and listened 
intently to the sermon of some Capuchin monk, 
who inveighed against the luxury which was rampant 
in high places. The King returned to his council 
chamber and forthwith drew up some startling 
sumptuary laws. He imposed restrictions on the 
diet of his subjects : " blanc-mange " was taboo, no 
longer might a loyal Portuguese refresh his inner 
man with the succulent " bolo " — a cross between a 
dumpling and a bun — furthermore, no one might 
spend more than his income. History does not 
relate to what extent these ordinances were honoured, 
but it may be supposed that even after such a 
stringent edict you might find some weaker mortals 
whose soul refused to be comforted without blanc- 
mange, who could not resist the bolo, and who 
would yet outrun the constable, as much from habit 
as from a but shadowy idea of the limits of their 
income or their liabilities. Such sinners have sur- 
vived to this day in other countries, under other 
laws. 

The King was capable of kindly impulse too. 
There returned from the wars one Bernardino 
Ribeiro, who came to Cintra to make obeisance to 
his King. Dom Fernando Alvares de Moronha 
introduced this warrior, whose face was so dis- 



152 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

figured by honourable scars that it provoked the 
Court, and even the King, to smiles. 'Bernardino 
was so upset by his reception that he could not 
say his say, and Dom Fernando, equally annoyed, 
upbraided the King severely, who, in a pet, with- 
drew with all his Court. Dom Fernando followed, 
no doubt to repeat the dose, then left for Lisbon, 
taking Bernardino with him. But very shortly after 
the King sent for the two again, thanked Dom 
Fernando for the reproof, and apologised to 
Bernardino. 

King Sebastian dreamt of conquest here in the 
forests that deck the steep sides of the Serra of 
Cintra, and in the council chamber of the palace, 
the chamber so richly decorated with coloured tiles, 
he and his young companions discussed the proposed 
crusade to Northern Africa. The partial success of 
his first campaign urged him on to renewed efforts, 
and he and the young men again met together 
in council. Despite the warnings of a monk, 
who had foretold disaster — Dom Joao had appeared 
to him in a dream — Dom Sebastiao set out again, 
never to return. He and his army were totally 
destroyed by the Moors at El Kasr-el-Kebir. His 
uncle, Cardinal Dom Henrique, was proclaimed 
King, but lived only a few years ; then Philip II. 
of Spain, husband of Marie, daughter of Joao III., 
became King of Portugal, as first of that name. 



Gntra 153 

Three Philips followed one upon the other, but 
they visited the country rarely, and Cintra stood 
deserted, while the forest trees communed in anxious 
whispers, repeating tales of the troubles that had 
come over fair Lusitania. From inland the breezes 
brought rumours of plots and conspiracies, of drastic 
punishment and treachery ; the clouds hurrying up 
from the ocean filled the forest trees with sadness 
as they told of the unhappy state of Portugal's 
over-seas empire. The wind filled the sails of ships 
that sped southward under the red cross of St. George ; 
in 1 591, ten years after the death of Dom Henrique, 
last of the house of Aviz, English ships first visited 
India. Then four years later a Dutch squadron 
set out for the same distant lands, and thus began 
the disruption of the empire, planned by Prince 
Henry the Navigator, strong and glorious when 
Manuel the Fortunate was king. 

Echoes of strife and tumult disturbed the stillness 
of Cintra, till one day, December 1, 1640, news 
came of a revolt in Lisbon, which resulted in the 
proclamation of Dom Joao, Duke of Braganza, as 
King John IV. of Portugal. France and Holland 
entered into alliance with Portugal ; and England, 
recognising the independence of the country, followed 
suit a year later. 

Cintra saw little of King John IV. during his 
troubled reign, but knew well his second son, who 



154 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

became King as Affonso VI. in 1656. A vicious 
weakling this, injured in his youth when bull- 
fighting at Azeitao. One small room in the palace of 
Cintra tells his story. He married a pretty, lively 
little lady, Maria de Nemours (Mademoiselle 
d'Aumale), a granddaughter of Henri IV. But 
though Affonso's reign was marked with some 
^successes against the Spaniards, who had regained 
possession of the " Alemtejo," the country beyond 
the Tagus, his swarthy brother Pedro deposed him, 
and kept him prisoner on the island of Terceira 
for six years. Then Dom Affonso was removed to 
Cintra. He was brought into the palace yard at 
midnight, and by the flare of torches shown the 
small chamber prepared to receive him. He raised 
his hands in horror as he entered the tiny room. 
At first some slight interest remained to him ; a 
former Minister, his only friend, Conde de Castello 
Melhor, owned a small house on the hill-side, visible 
from the prison chamber, and from here he and 
another, one Antonio Conti, made signs to Dom 
Affonso. But the Duke of Cadaval, married to 
Dom Pedro's illegitimate daughter Luiza, reported 
this, and the Regent deprived his brother of this 
only solace, and had him removed to another 
chamber. Dom Affonso had paced the floor of the 
former chamber constantly, from the window to the 
opposite wall, looking out for some friendly sign ; 



155 



Cintra 157 

that weary pathway is still shown — there, where the 
tiles upon the floor are worn away. Shortly after 
his removal, Dom Affonso, who at the age of forty 
had suffered imprisonment for sixteen years, suddenly 
asked to be taken to mass, but death overtook him 
on the way. His last words were, " I go, but the 
Queen will soon follow me." The Queen had married 
Dom Pedro. She soon followed her first husband, 
and Pedro reigned in his stead. But Cintra was not 
to Pedro's liking; he never lived there. Nor did 
King John V., his son ; he built the vast, flamboyant 
monastery of Mafra, in the style so much in vogue 
at the beginning of the eighteenth century. 

Cintra suffered in the earthquake that destroyed 
Lisbon, in the days when Jose I. was King and 
the Marquis of Pombal his able Minister. A 
wonderful chimney-piece was removed from that 
nobleman's palace of Almeirim at Cintra ; it had 
been presented by Leo X. to King Manuel I. It 
is said to be the work of Michelangelo, but 
should be attributed to Franz Florio the Fleming. 

Since the earlier years of the nineteenth century 
the palace of Cintra has lost much in importance. 
War devastated the country when French armies 
marched through it, to be in turn driven out by 
Portugal's English allies and the gallant troops which 
Beresford raised in the country. An old palace 
stands desolate some way from the town ; it is 



IS 8 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

called " Seti Aix," or " Seven Sighs." The Con- 
vention of Cintra is said to have been signed here. 
Yet farther on, amidst luxuriant vegetation, lies 
Monserrate, the seat of Sir Frederick Cook, Viscount 
Monserrate. King Edward VII. visited here in 
1902, and planted a tree to commemorate the event. 

High up on the rocks stands yet another palace, 
which has eclipsed the others, the palace of Pena. 
Prince Ferdinand of Coburg built it after he had 
married Maria da Gloria, who reigned interruptedly 
from 1826 to 1853. It rises about the graceful 
chapel which King Manuel I. caused to be built 
to replace the humble hermitage of earlier days. 
The new palace emulates the style of Manueline 
architecture, but overdoes it : the decorations are 
too profuse, and seem to lack spontaneity. A 
winding roadway leads up to the castle, through a 
winding tunnel underneath the building and into a 
courtyard. The blue-and-white ensign of Portugal 
no longer flies from the tower, the colours of 
Henry of Burgundy, and those who came after him, 
driving the Moors out of the land : the flag which 
was respected on the high seas in the days of Dom 
Manoel o Fortunato and his successors, and which led 
Portuguese troops to victory, and gave them courage 
in defence of their country. The glory has departed 
from Cintra, and Pena stands empty, furnished as 
it was when Dom Manoel II. left it; even the news- 



Cintra 159 

papers and journals, all dating from the time of the 
revolution, lie where they have lain since the Royal 
Standard was hauled down. The flag of the Portu- 
guese Republic, red and green, which some think 
beautiful, flies over the palace. The palace of 
Cintra, too, is now the property of the Republic, 
and is being converted into a museum. A pathetic 
sense of intimate family life still lingers here, and 
tourists may wander where the rulers of Portugal 
have lived and made history : history that stands 
recorded in the brilliant Sala dos Veados, emblazoned 
with the escutcheons of famous families, of men 
who helped to make Portugal great — Almadas and 
Silvas, Pereiras, Vasconcellos, Almeidas and Britos, 
and many others. The design dates from the reign 
of Dom Manoel I., and he added the verse : 

Pois com esforgos leaes 
Servigos foram ganhados, 
Com estes e outros taes 
Devem de ser conservados. 

(" As they have been won by loyal service, they and their 
like deserve to be preserved.") 

Yet another castle adorns the steep slope of the 
Serra, at Cintra, the Moorish castle, a vast enclosure, 
with walls and towers, and in sufficient repair to 
enable visitors to walk along the ramparts up and 
down, enjoying the lovely view. You may well 
imagine keen-eyed Moors looking anxiously north- 
ward, in those days when a Vali governed the 



160 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

surrounding country for as far as he could control it. 
News would come in of the approaching Christian 
host, and the watchers on the ramparts would prepare 
for battle. But the Moors always made certain of 
some means of escape whenever it was possible, and 
it is said that when the Christians entered this 
castle after the assault they found not one defender 
left ; all had fled by two secret subterranean pas- 
sages. 

Cintra, with its castles and palaces, its glorious 
forests and profusion of flowers, has a peculiar fas- 
cination, and every right-minded holiday-maker should 
become acquainted with its charms. The railroad 
that connects it with Lisbon is not without its places 
of interest. It runs down from the Serra in wide 
curves, out of the rocky mountain district into fertile, 
undulating country, where "Quintas" and cottages 
nestle in wooded valleys. 

Another royal palace marks the road between 
Cintra and Lisbon, that of Queluz-Bellas. This 
building, too, stands desolate in the midst of its pretty 
park ; an air of sadness invests the broad staircase 
that leads to the ornate front of the building. There 
is a suggestion of Versailles about this palace, and 
it is meant to bear some resemblance. 

By the pale light of the moon you may people 
this deserted place with shadowy forms — wicked 
Dona Carlotta Joachina and her lovers plotting 



Dom Joao de Castro 161 

against her husband, King John VI., who sought 
consolation in frequent pinches of snuff; or a 
more pleasant memory of Dom Pedro IV. of Portugal, 
and Emperor of Brazil, who introduced constitu- 
tional government. But here again the glory has 
departed. 

Nearer towards Lisbon is one more place of 
interest, Bemfica, and that because its church, in an 
ancient Dominican convent, contains the remains of 
one of Portugal's great men, Dom Joao de Castro, 
fourth Viceroy of India, a man of unblemished 
integrity, who pledged his beard in order to raise 
the funds necessary to the maintenance of his country's 
prestige in India. 

The railway line wanders on, downhill, past 
Campolide, where the aqueduct crosses a deep valley, 
plunges into a tunnel, and emerges at the Central, 
Rocio, Station, of Lisbon. 



CHAPTER VII 



OCIEDADE Propaganda de Portugal" is the 



title of a very excellent institution which 
aims at instructing intelligent travellers, tourists, 
intelligent or otherwise, in the way they should go, 
so that they may thoroughly enjoy a holiday in 
Portugal, this holiday-land. A capital little book, 
neatly bound in blue, therefore not so obviously 
touristic as the usual guide-book, called " Manuel 
du Voyageur," by S. L. de Mendonza e Costa, 
contains much information, concisely given. Its 
genial style and attractive little photographs greatly 
induce visitors to Portugal to go farther afield in 
search of the many beauties and objects of interest 
which this lovely country has to offer. No wonder, 
then, that it sent the Holiday-maker out upon his 
way — in fact, accompanied him. 

Intense pleasure is to be got out of the mere 
fact of starting on an excursion early in the morning, 
after the streets have been thoroughly aired, and 
when others, not so fortunate, are hurrying to work. 
The " Manuel " had suggested a visit to Thomar, 




Lisbon to Thomar 163 

so the Holiday-maker was astir betimes in the morning, 
and walked down to the Rocio Station. This station 
has the advantage of holding a central position in 
the town. It has its disadvantages too, for as soon 
as a train leaves the platform it plunges into a long 
tunnel, above which are the Botanical Gardens. There 
is only one up and one down line through this 
tunnel, so the traffic management must offer con- 
siderable difficulties. The way these difficulties are 
overcome reflects great credit on the Lisbon Station 
authorities, for unpunctuality is of rare occurrence. 
Another disadvantage of this peculiarly situated 
central station is that trains travelling eastward have 
to make a long detour of the town before they get 
into the open, as it were. You stop at Campolide 
again, then move round the town in a wide sweep, 
past the Campo Pequeno with the bull-ring, the 
Praga de Touros, past a huge, heavy building, 
formerly the Convent of Chellas, now tenements for 
innumerable poor families, until at Brac^o de Prata 
you join the main line from the former central station 
Caes de Soldados. As a rule, the fact of joining 
the main line does not mean accelerated speed ; nor 
should this matter much to the genuine holiday- 
maker, for there is much that is beautiful to be seen, 
and a slow train offers ample opportunity for doing 
so. There is the verdant country about Olivaes 
Sacavem with the quaint siphon that draws the water 



* - 

164 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

for Lisbon's consumption, across the river Alviella, 
then Alverca, near which was the camp of Alfarrobeira, 
where Dom Pedro, Duke of Coimbra, died in the 
midst of his troops and those of his nephew, Dom 
Affonso V., in 1449. Alhandra, too, has some claim 
to passing notice ; it was rebuilt by Sucino, Bishop 
of Lisbon, when Sancho I. was King, at the end of 
the twelfth century. Affonso de Albuquerque was 
born at Paraizo, close by, and so was his son, Braz 
de Albuquerque, whose Lisbon residence the Holiday- 
maker has pointed out. The church that stands up 
on the height was built by Cardinal Dom Henrique, 
who succeeded his nephew, King Sebastian, as last 
of the mighty dynasty of Aviz, founded by King 
John I. Close by is the fort of S. Vincerite, part 
of the Lisbon lines of defence. A little farther on 
is Villa Franca de Xira, a very ancient borough, 
which was once a possession of the Knights Templars, 
of whom and their doings we shall hear more anon. 
Then comes Azambuja, which was in existence 
before the Portuguese monarchy ; King Denis the 
Farmer planted a large pine forest here, and it 
subsequently became a favourite haunt of brigands ; 
every trace of it has vanished, making way for 
cultivation and pretty little country houses, gleaming 
among orange groves. 

The silver Tagus accompanies the traveller, now 
hiding behind clumps of trees, then showing all its 




i65 



Lisbon to Thomar 167 

broad expanse, white sails of fishing craft standing 
out against the distant landscape, green and fertile, 
with its background of blue, distant hills. The 
Tagus comes close up to the old town of Santarem, 
swirling round the foundations of Saint Irene's tomb, 
Saint Irene the martyred virgin whose body was 
thrown into the Nabao river and was carried away 
into the Tagus. Santarem, too, has had a stirring 
history: AfTonso VI. of Castile took it from the 
Moors in 1093 I the Moors regained possession and 
held it till Dom AfTonso Henrique made a final 
conquest of the town by night attack in 1147. The 
Romans, too, have left traces of their dominion in the 
remains of an ancient stronghold. Here at Santarem, 
in the church of the Monastery de Graga, Pedro 
Alvares Cabral, the rediscoverer of Brazil, lies buried. 

The line leaves the banks of the Tagus at 
Entroncamente, the junction for Badajoz, and turns 
northwards, winding round hills, rising gradually 
through pine woods until Payalvo, the station for 
Thomar. Here the Holiday-maker alighted and 
discovered a " diligence " — a conveyance with which 
he has since become well, and painfully, acquainted — 
ready to take him to Thomar for a slight con- 
sideration. The "diligence" is of lighter build 
than its original in France ; it certainly rattles 
a great deal more, and the roof cracks ominously 
while heavy boxes are hurled on to it by those 



1 68 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

cheeriest of mortals, the mule-driver and the con- 
ductor. The sides of this vehicle are open, but may 
be screened by canvas curtains. 

There were two other passengers in the diligence, 
not counting several friends and relations of driver 
and guard, who all clustered outside, dangling their 
legs. This provided one of the inside travellers with 
much entertainment. He was a young farmer, who, 
it appeared, had done a good deal in pigs, and 
was therefore in high feather. His improvised 
pastime was to cut and thrust at the dangling 
extremities with his brass-shod quarter-staff, with- 
drawing after every successful coup to explode with 
laughter, showering winks and nods on his fellow 
travellers inside. The Holiday-maker failed to 
realise the humour of the performance, as the butt 
end of the staff occasionally approached his eyes too 
nearly, and looked severely upon the merry farmer. 
The other traveller, a gentleman with a grimy face 
and a broken hat-brim, being more removed from 
the danger zone, smiled complacently. The road 
led uphill most of the way, through white dust, 
ankle-deep, which at first promised smooth travelling, 
but now and again a violent bump gave notice of 
some hidden, uncharted rock. The last mile or 
so gave the mules, with their tinkling bells, a chance 
of a downhill spurt, and the coach gaily rattled 
into Thomar over the uneven cobble stones. 



Thomar 169 

Thomar stands on the site of an ancient Roman 
settlement, Nabancia, so called after the little river 
Nabao which flows through the town, the river 
which carried the body of Saint Irene down to the 
Tagus. The little town lies peacefully at the foot 
of a steep hill, red roofs, and the tower of St. John 
the Baptists Church, with its traces of Manueline 
architecture, standing out against a background of 
rock and dark foliage. 

The hill is crowned by a battered castle, broken 
towers " s'accusent " against the sky ; the ruined 
walls connect these, their rugged outline broken here 
and there by tall, aspiring cypress trees. These 
sombre sentinels, that draw life from the crumbling 
ruins, recall those stormy days when Christian and 
Pagan fought for the possession of this strong- 
hold ; days when those walls and that stout keep, 
begun on March 1st, 1160, by Gualdim Paes, 
Master of the Order of Knights Templars, resisted 
all assaults delivered by the Moors, even that most 
bloody venture of Abou-Jousouf in 11 90, when he 
led his hosts repeatedly up those steep slopes, to 
see them surge back, baffled, defeated. They com- 
pletely destroyed the city while the castle held out ; 
after the Emperor of Morocco was forced to with- 
draw, the Knights of the Temple devoted their 
energies to rebuilding the town of Thomar. 

A road leads up the hill-side to the castle, 



170 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

to the entrance gate by the bell tower, whence 
warning of approaching danger rang out over the 
valley. The approach is much like that to other 
mediaeval castles similarly situated ; it is on entering 
that a great surprise awaits the traveller. Around 
him are hoary ruins, but to the right hand, rising 
above the deep-green foliage of orange trees with 
their golden burden, is a glorious vision, the church 
of the Convent of Christ. Graceful pinnacles point 
to the sky, stone-copings carved like fretwork 
adorn the nave, windows decorated in all the pro- 
fusion of the style called Manueline gleam in the 
light of the setting sun. The entrance to the 
church, approached by two flights of broad stone 
steps, is a marvel of the skill inspired by Manoel 
o Fortunato and his triumphant era — a memorial to 
the days when Portugal was great among the great 
Powers of the world, a monument to glory long 
past, pathetic in the contrast of its rich symbolism 
to its present utter desolation. Adjoining this in 
striking contrast stands the chancel, once the chapel 
of the Knights Templars, before the Order of Christ 
was put into possession and built the church. 
Built of large blocks of stone, with long, narrow 
windows, the chancel tells the earliest history of this 
astounding castle, speaks of those stern days which 
gave birth to the different orders of knights 
militant. 



Orders of Knighthood 173 

There were many such orders in those days 
when Western chivalry marched to the East to 
save the Holy Places from the Pagan. Of these 
orders] the majority died out when their object was 
no longer attainable ; few, very few survived, and in 
such altered guise that they would now no longer 
be recognised by their originators. 

A quite excusable ambition moved knights of 
these various orders to trace the date of their 
institution back to very early days. Thus, for 
instance, the Order of Constantine, or of St. George, 
sometimes called Dores, or Angeliques, claims spiritual 
descent from Constantine the Great. They held 
title deeds, which in 1533 were deposited in the 
archives of the Court of Rome — among these the 
sanction of Pope Leo, dated 456; but they are of 
more than dubious authenticity. Again, it was 
recorded that in the twelfth century the Emperor of 
the East, Isaac Angelus Comnenus, had been asked 
to draw up fresh statutes for this order ; but it is 
more probable that he founded it, and, as he was 
one of the least vain of the Comneni, named it after 
the great Constantine from whom his family tried 
to claim descent. When the Crescent swept away 
the Cross from the city of Constantine, the order 
named after him must have gone under likewise, 
but there were some Comneni left, and of one of 
them, Andreas, it is recorded that he was in receipt 



174 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

of a pension from the Pope. A few more Comneni 
appeared from time to time, attempts were made to 
revive the order, but all traces of it and its doings 
have vanished long ago. 

Another order, that of the Knights Hospitallers 
of St. Lazarus of Jerusalem, claimed yet greater 
antiquity. Its brethren declared that in the year 
a.d. 72 several warlike Christians bound themselves 
by vows to protect their co-religionists from persecu- 
tion at the hands of Scribes and Pharisees, Sadducees 
and Romans. The records of this order are still 
less convincing, though at least one definite state- 
ment sheds a little light on its past — in 1354 a Scot, 
John Hallidei, is mentioned as Governor, spiritual 
and temporal. The later purpose of this rather 
legendary order is more in keeping with modern 
notions. It survived the Crusades, and used its 
funds and energies in combating a fell disease, 
leprosy. Leprous brethren were accepted in order 
to attend fellow sufferers, and on one occasion they 
were obliged to look outside the order for a 
Grand Master, to consult Pope Innocent IV., 
because the Infidels had slain all the leprous brethren 
in the hospital at Jerusalem. 

It is not surprising that another obscure order 
of knights militant, bound by monastic vows, should 
claim Charlemagne as its founder — the Order of 
Frisians, or of the Crown. It is so long since 



Orders of Knighthood 175 

knights of that order looked resplendent in white 
frocks embroidered with a crown and the device 
" Coronabitur legitime certans " that it matters little 
whether their origin is due to Frisian support given 
to the Franks against the Saxons, or to the taking 
prisoner of King Didier, what time the Lombards 
defeated Charlemagne in battle. 

As every one knows, the body of St. Catherine 
was borne by angels to Mount Sinai. This proved 
a great attraction to the devout ; and in order to 
protect these pilgrims from the Pagans, several 
knights bound themselves under the rules of 
St. Basil, thus founding yet another order. The 
brethren received knighthood at the martyr's grave, 
which they guarded day and night. Their badge 
was a blood-stained sword on half a wheel. 

Yet another order of knighthood was originated 
indirectly by Richard I. of England. Needless to 
say, he was an enthusiastic Crusader, so he sailed 
for the Holy Land in 1191. The story goes that 
he was cast by tempests on to the island of Cyprus, 
then a possession of the Eastern Empire. The 
Emperor Isaac Comnenus ill-treated Richard— a 
rash proceeding. Richard grew angry (he often 
did), took possession of Cyprus (which again sounds 
likely), and bound Isaac Comnenus and his wife 
with chains of gold. The latter part of the story 
seems improbable, if only from the consideration 



176 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

that Richard was generally very short of gold ; of 
course he may have acquired the golden chains by 
the primitive methods habitual to crusaders, pirates, 
and other such liberal-minded gentry. King Richard 
also determined to conquer Jerusalem and all the 
Holy Land, and to keep it for his own. In order 
that no one should dispute his right to the style 
and title of King of Jerusalem, he bought that title 
from Guy de Luzignan, who had married Sybil, 
eldest daughter of Amory, then King of the Holy 
City — which, by the way, he had lost to the Saracens 
some three years previously. Richard paid for his 
new honours with Cyprus ; and as Jerusalem probably 
interested Guy no longer, he became King of Cyprus, 
where he in his turn founded an order of knighthood, 
the Order of Cyprus, an order of silence. But 
Catherine Cornara, widow of Jacques de Luzignan, 
a later King of Cyprus, ceded the island to the 
Venetians, who in turn lost it to the Turks; and 
as the new owners had little use for a Christian 
order of knights militant, however silent, the silence 
of Nirvana fell upon that institution. 

Of all these military monastic orders the most 
powerful was that of the Knights Templars. It 
arose from small beginnings, when in 11 18 several 
pious knights united to form a society which pur- 
posed to defend pilgrims against the Infidels. There 
were originally nine members of this society — Hugues 



The Knights Templars 177 

de Paganis, Godefroi de Saint-Amour, and seven 
others whose names are forgotten. These knights 
bound themselves to poverty, chastity, and obedience, 
and made their vows in the presence of Guarimond, 
Patriarch of Jerusalem, who looked on with approval 
as these warriors devoted themselves to the service 
of God. 

Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, gave them a house 
near the Temple of Solomon, and from this they 
derived style and title. There they lived, on what 
alms were given them, in great poverty, and became 
known as the " Poor Knights of the Temple." 
There was no increase in their numbers until after 
the Council of Troies, 11 28, over which the 
Bishop of Albe presided, as representative of Pope 
Honorius II. On this occasion Hugues de Paganis 
and five of the brethren, who had attended the 
council, requested St. Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux, 
also present, to draw up rules to apply to all branches 
of the extended brotherhood. This St. Bernard 
did to everybody's satisfaction, so, according to an old 
manuscript at Alcobaca, every Knight Templar on 
joining made the following vow : Obedience and 
eternal fidelity to Jesus Christ our Lord and His Vicar 
the Sovereign Pontiff and his successors. To defend, 
by the word and the sword, with all his strength, 
the Mysteries of the Faith, the Seven Sacraments, 
the fourteen Articles of Faith, the Symbol of Faith 



178 A Winter|Holiday in^Portugal 

and that of St. Anasthasius, the books of both Old 
and New Testament, with the commentaries of the 
Holy Fathers which have been received by the 
Church, the unity of one God, the personality of 
the Persons of the Trinity, that Mary, daughter 
of Joachim and Anna of the tribe of Juda and race 
of David, was ever Virgin, before, during, and after 
childbirth. 

He further promised obedience to the Master 
of the order, to cross the seas to fight when needful, 
to give succour to all Christian kings and princes 
against the Infidels, never to turn away from three 
Infidel enemies or less, not to sell or consent to 
the sale of the goods of the order, never to surrender 
towns or possessions of the order to any enemy ; 
to be faithful to the sovereign of his country, and 
never to refuse assistance to brethren and sisters of 
other orders : 

Dieu me soit en aide et Ses Saints Evangiles ! 

The red cross which adorned their white robes 
was given by Pope Eugene III. in 1146, by which 
time the status of this order of knights had changed 
considerably. It had increased in number. Guil- 
laume de Tyr, writing about this time, mentions 
three hundred knights in the House of the Temple 
at Jerusalem alone, not counting the many serving 
brethren. The vow of poverty had slipped into 



The Knights Templars 179 

oblivion, and the order had acquired enormous wealth 
and great possessions, which made its power equal to 
that of kings. Other vows were broken : the Knights 
Templars refused to obey kings, and even defied 
the Patriarch of Jerusalem. Instead of assisting 
pilgrims they robbed them, and when Emperor 
Frederick III. came to the Holy Land to fight the 
Infidels, they sought to betray him. The Emperor 
had communicated his intention to the Templars, 
but these, jealous of his power, and forgetful of 
their duty to God, suggested to the Sultan of 
Babylon a plan by which he could surprise and 
destroy the Kaiser and his hosts. The Infidel 
declined to make use of the information, and told 
Emperor Frederick of the Templars' treachery ; but 
so powerful were they that terms had to be made 
with them. 

Richard I. of England enters into the history 
of this order too. In contradiction to the records 
of the Order of Cyprus, it is said that Richard sold 
the island to the Order of Knights Templars. Matthew 
of Westminster, writing of those days, tells how 
Foulques, discussing the matter with the King, 
referred to the pride that characterised his Court, 
and suggested that he should marry it to the 
Templars, as one generously disposes of a bad 
daughter. 

The Order of Knights Templars did more than 



180 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

any other body towards the final loss of Jerusalem 
to the Infidels. The Knights then dispersed all over 
Europe, and made themselves disliked wherever they 
went by their disorderly habits, which must have been 
very bad to have shocked a by no means squeamish 
age. Kings and princes found this order an 
odious nuisance, but it was so powerful that it 
was difficult to effect anything against it. How- 
ever, King Philip le Bel of France, where the 
Templars were very powerful, had the happy idea 
of arresting them all on the same day, October 13th, 
1307. The Pope raised an objection to this drastic 
proceeding, as the order, being a religious one, was 
under his jurisdiction. But he did not insist ; he 
even ordered inquiries to be instituted. These 
revealed a serious state of affairs ; so kings and 
princes, supported by the Church, decided to abolish 
the order, and this eventually took place at the 
Council of Vienna in 13 12. All the goods and 
possessions of this order were transferred to the 
Order of Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, except 
in one or two countries, among them Portugal, whose 
king, Denis, took over the great possessions formerly 
held by the Knights Templars in his country. 

Among these possessions was Thomar, as we 
have seen. It was an important fortress and re- 
quired a constant garrison, hitherto found by the 
Order of Knights Templars, which was not in 



The Order of Christ 183 

quite such a bad way here as in other countries. 
King Denis quite realised how useful the Templars 
had been, so he decided to found another military- 
order on the ruins of the former one. This he 
succeeded in doing five years after the downfall 
of the Templars, possibly admitting some of those 
into the new order, which he called that of Jesus 
Christ, in order that the Knights might do great 
things against the enemies of the Faith, in that 
Holy Name. King Denis sent to Rome to ask 
the Pope for a Bull confirming this order, and 
received it on March 14th, 13 19 ; thereupon the 
Abbot of Alcobaga heard the vows of the new 
Knights, the rules of St. Benoit of Calatrava. 

At first the order lived according to strict 
monastic rule, but this was relaxed in time, though 
through sanction of constituted authority, not by 
individual licence. Thus Pope Alexander VI. 
absolved the order from strict observance of the 
vow of poverty, on condition that one- third of its 
acquired property should be devoted to the con- 
struction of the monastery at Thomar. The knights 
of the order did well in several campaigns against 
the Moors ; they even captured territory in Africa, 
which they submitted to King Edward of Portugal. 
But Dom Duarte gave them the sovereignty over 
the territory they had conquered, and Pope 
Eugene IV. confirmed this concession, promising 
10 



184 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

them also one-tenth of all their subsequent con- 
quests. This urged the knights on to further 
endeavour. They gained wealth and great possessions ; 
but instead of using these for their own aggrandise- 
ment, they devoted them to the service of their 
country. It soon became customary that a member 
of the royal family should hold the office of Grand 
Master of this order, since the brethren had been 
granted leave to marry by the Pope. Thus Prince 
Henry the Navigator, brother of Dom Duarte, the 
King, became Grand Master, and under him began 
that series of discoveries, aided by the Order of 
Christ, which raised Portugal to foremost rank 
among the great nations of Europe. Dom Affonso V., 
who followed Dom Duarte on the throne of Portugal, 
further extended the power of this order by giving 
them jurisdiction over all their over-seas possessions ; 
this decision Pope Calixtus III. confirmed, adding 
the right to appoint priests to benefices, to administer 
censures, interdicts — in fact, investing the order with 
full episcopal power. 

Dom Manoel, also Grand Master of this order, 
gave further concessions when he came to the throne. 
During the reign of this monarch the badge of the 
Order of Christ, a red cross enclosing a white one, 
was known on all the newly discovered ocean high- 
ways. It was blazoned on the sails that bore Vasco 
da Gama and his fellows round the Cape of Good 



The Order of Christ 185 

Hope ; it gleamed in the heat of equatorial seas, and 
caused wonderment to the priests of an ancient 
creed in India — wonderment, for the symbol of peace 
and self-sacrifice led its worshippers to acts of 
violence and unspeakable cruelty in search of con- 
quest and personal aggrandisement. 

Gradually the cross of the Order of Christ faded 
from the high seas, corruption corroded the Portu- 
guese Empire, attacked its vitals in the mother 
country, and Portugal sank into insignificance. The 
balance of power began to change when the wealth 
and importance of Portugal had blinded those in 
authority to current events. Another red cross, that 
of St. George of England, became known and 
respected beyond the limits of the Island Kingdom. 
A significant fact heralded the advent of a new, 
yet remaining sea-power — in 1580 Cardinal Dom 
Henrique died, last of the dynasty of Aviz, and 
Portugal was incorporated in the kingdom of Spain ; 
in that year Sir Francis Drake sailed round the 
world. Camoes died in the same year, Camoes who 
sang the glory of Portugal in his immortal epic the 
" Lusiades." 

The stately pile of buildings that crowns the 
height at Thomar became the retreat of pious 
monks, for in 1523 the Order of Christ was con- 
verted from a military into a monastic institution. 
Their memory lingers yet under the vaulted stone 



1 86 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

ceiling of the refectory, in the little stone-flagged 
cells that line the long wide corridors with their 
timber waggon-roof. The last rays of the setting 
sun enter between the bars of the small window of 
a tiny cell ; you sit down on the stone seat by the 
window and look out over luxuriant verdure, to the 
broad plain below, but you feel the presence of some 
gentle brother whose favourite place this was on 
those balmy winter evenings long ago. King 
John III., who made monks of the knights of this 
order, also built this portion of the monastery ; a 
majestic cloister is named after him. There are 
other cloisters, seven in all, each with its own 
peculiar beauty and pathetic interest ; of these the 
most beautiful is that of St. Barbe, the oldest and 
sternest that used for ablution by the knights. 

The battlements and towers are falling into decay 
— they have served their purpose ; but the monastic 
buildings, the church, and the cloisters are kept in 
good repair. They stand silent and deserted in 
their exuberant beauty, and around them the evening 
breeze rustles the heavy leaves of orange trees and 
draws fragrance from the golden fruit, while tall 
cypresses stand dark against the evening sky and 
mourn over this monument to the glory of Portugal, 
short lived, long since departed. 



CHAPTER VIII 



T"\rHO has not heard of castles in Spain? 

Castles raised by our fantasy out of fond 
hopes and vain desires. Castles such as Dores 
pencil called forth — castles with many mansions, 
endless towers and turrets, with spires soaring into 
regions yet more unknowable than those on which 
the structure's gossamer foundations rest. 

How many have heard of castles in Portugal ? 
No foolish fancy called them into being, they are 
not the plaything of an idle moment. The castles 
of Portugal are very real, have served a real purpose, 
and, though much battered and neglected, they still 
raise their ruined ramparts out of the living rock of 
which the foundations seem a part. 

Take the map of Portugal ; you will find castles 
everywhere, and they seem to have formed a chain 
of strongholds from north to south. This was the 
case when Christian and Pagan fought for supremacy. 
The Moorish invasion came from the south ; where 
the invaders found a former stronghold they im- 
proved it with their marvellous ingenuity. They 

187 



1 88 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

built others, cunningly, wherever they thought one 
necessary, and so arose those castles, one by one. 
Far to southward Silves, once the seat of the 
Kaliph of Algarve, S. Thiago do Cacem, Alcacer do 
Sal, Montemor o Novo, Palmella, Fort St. George 
at Lisbon, Cintra, Obidos, Almourol, and many 
others. Each Moorish castle was held by a garrison, 
was the seat of some lieutenant of the Moorish 
Emperor, and from these centres revenue was 
collected which was conveyed to Africa under the 
escort of large armed parties. Each castle could 
communicate with its neighbours, and a flaring beacon 
by night gave warning of an approaching enemy. 
The foe came from the east, from Spain, at first, 
then from the north, after Dom Henrique, Count 
of Burgundy, had prepared the way, followed by his 
son, towards the foundation of the kingdom, now 
the Republic, of Portugal. The Christian hosts came 
from the north, under the blue cross on a white 
field, started from Guimaraes, the cradle of the first 
dynasty, and what they gained they held by strong 
castles. The old walls of Oporto were strengthened, 
Villa da Feira, near Ovar, was taken from the Moors 
and fortified by Dom Henrique. The Moors lost 
Coimbra to Dom Fernando, King of Castile, and for 
many years this was the most southern outpost of 
the new Kingdom of Portugal. 

The power of Portugal moved irresistibly south- 



Castles in Portugal 189 

ward, taking in Leiria, Thomar, Obidos, then the 
Tagus, and yet farther south ; strong castles marked 
its progress and held the territory gained, until their 
work was finished. Now they stand neglected, these 
ruined castles, these monuments of Portugal's stirring 
history, and few of those who live under the shadow 
of these hoary walls can tell you what their purpose 
was, nor why they are no longer needed. 

The Holiday-maker feels strongly drawn towards 
all ruined remains of former strength and greatness, 
so set about to visit as many of these castles of 
Portugal as a short winter holiday would permit 
him to see. As before mentioned, he is singularly 
fortunate in his friends, and thus was enabled to 
carry out his project in great comfort. Starting 
again from the Rocio station, the line runs due 
north, sending a branch from Agualva to Cintra, 
whose castles and high -placed palace look down upon 
the pleasant undulating country through which the 
train moves at no excessive speed. In wide curves 
the line rises up towards a broad, dark mass of 
heights, separated by deep, winding ravines ; here 
and there a mass of broken masonry peers above the 
sombre olive trees ; again, a straight line, softened 
by waving grass, connecting the broken crest of a 
hill, speaks of more modern methods of defence. A 
wayside station, which we stop at, gives a clue to 
the meaning of those lines ; here is Torres Vedras. 



i9° A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

This is an ancient borough, and has seen warriors 
of many nations pass. The Romans built a strong- 
hold here, and called it Turras Viteres. Dom 
Affonso Henrique took it from the Moors in 1149. 
Then for a while was peace, and vines grew on the 
hill-sides as they grow to-day. Then the valleys rang 
with the rattle of musketry when, in 1807, General 
Chariot came this way, and again, three years later, 
when Wellington barred Massena's progress. During 
the civil wars, under Dona Marie 11. , the troops of 
Marshal Saldanha here met those of Count Bomfin 
in battle, and routed them. 

The line wanders on, curling round gentler slopes 
than those of the lines of Torres Vedras which loom 
impressively to southward, past little villages with 
picturesque names — Ramalhal, after crossing the little 
stream Sizandro, Bombarral, crossing the Real. The 
heights to southward, offering a mighty panorama, 
become blue and distant ; their spurs run down gently 
into the plains. "Quintas" (country houses) stand here 
and there on rising ground, whitewashed cottages 
nestle in the hollows in the midst of grey olive groves. 
Slow, plodding oxen draw a plough which has not 
altered in design since fair Lusitania was a Roman 
province ; the red earth turned up stands in vivid 
contrast to the shiny green of young Indian corn 
growing apace in this rich soil. The gentle heights, 
outrunners of the southern mountains, begin to show 




COIMBRA, RUINS OF SANTA CLARA. 
191 



1 



Obidos 193 

the delicate green of the vine, but to the right of 
the line a hog-backed ridge stands out into the 
plain ; its rocky slopes encourage no growth but 
scrub and grass, and on its sides and crest stand 
battered walls and broken towers ; within this enceinte 
is an ancient town, Obidos. 

The Holiday-maker, with his usual good fortune, 
found a cordial welcome at one of those delightful 
Portuguese quintas. The road led from the station 
under the walls of Obidos, the ruined towers of 
which seemed bent on arresting the clouds that hurry 
up from the sea. The banks by the roadside are 
covered with aloes, which not only make an excellent 
fence, but have other uses — for instance, the coarse, 
strong fibre of the leaves can be plaited into ropes, 
and these are largely used to bind oxen to the yoke. 
A sharp turn to the right, away from the good main 
road brought the Holiday-maker into a rather bad 
side track, shaded by eucalyptus, which led to that 
long, yellow-painted quinta, standing out over the 
red roofs of cottages and outbuildings, against a 
background of dark-green foliage — a singularly happy 
colour-scheme. Here at this quinta the Holiday- 
maker passed happy days in the pleasant company 
of his host 5 who, by-the-by, speaks English as well 
as any Englishman. The quinta itself offers much 
of interest in its large, cool rooms with parquet 
floors. Stored away in mighty old cupboards, carved 



I 



194 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

in heavy wood, are court costumes, uniforms worn 
by gallant gentlemen, mine host's ancestors, dainty 
dresses which rustled on the broad staircase, along 
those wide corridors, so many years ago. Their 
gossamer fabric still falls in graceful folds, and you 
fancy you see dainty sandalled feet peeping out from 
under them, whilst from the old spinet in the corner 
of the drawing-room comes a tinkling echo of some 
stately measure. Then there are rich embroidered 
cloths that served as coverlets ; one of them has 
seen the slumbers of a king who visited here. The 
library, too, has many attractions, among these 
Beresford's daily orders to the Portuguese army he 
had organised. 

The Holiday-maker could step out of his sitting- 
room on to a broad terrace, where a lovely view 
awaited him. He could look over the large garden, 
where roses grow in the winter, and bamboo bushes 
stand on shady lawns, to copses of pine and eucalyptus, 
and over the roofs of cottages and out-houses to the 
purple distance behind which lies the sea. Outhouses, 
long, low-built sheds, stand under the pine trees ; they 
hold great treasures, wine, golden or ruby, won 
from the fruit of those vineyards that are decking 
hill-sides and plain with tender green. 

" Why are these delicious wines so little known 
outside Portugal ? " The genial host shrugs his 
shoulders. " They are known outside, but not under 



Obidos 195 

their proper name. Some go to Germany, and from 
there go out again called after picturesque places on 
the Rhine ; France imports a great quantity, which 
then becomes claret, Bordeaux, Burgundy. There 
will be a great demand for white wine this year, as 
so much champagne has been sacrificed to a recent 
outburst of popular fury." Had this happened in 
Portugal, what expressions of righteous indignation 
would have filled the columns of the daily papers ! 
But it happened in France, to the accompaniment 
of charging cuirassiers. 

The winter nights are cool in Portugal, so the 
roaring log fire in the stone hearth was very welcome. 
Moreover, it helped to draw much information from 
Padre Antonio, whom the Holiday-maker is proud to 
call friend. Padre Antonio hails from the north, and 
brought with him the indomitable energy, the mental 
and bodily alertness which is the heritage of the sons 
of the mountains. He is a priest, as Padre betokens, 
strict with himself, lenient to others. A true Portu- 
guese, gentle and courteous, moreover a good sports- 
man — one of the finest shots in the country. Padre 
Antonio was kind to the Holiday-maker, as he is to 
all fellow mortals (is there any one who would say 
aught but good of him ?). Together they stood by 
the windmill where the broad road leads up to 
Obidos, the windmill near which Portugal's English 
allies fired the first shot of the campaign against 



196 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Junot, little more than a fortnight after landing. 
They climbed the heights of Rolica, and from the 
simple grave where Lake lies buried — the gallant 
colonel of the 29th, first to reach the summit, first 
to fall there — retold the story of the battle. Surely 
it was a mighty feat to storm those enormous heights ! 
Then they wandered among the heather, up hill and 
down dale, and Padre Antonio talked of autumn 
days, when the birds come over like rockets, and 
the report of a gun rolls echoing through the valleys. 
How they must have rung on that 17th of August, 
1808, as shot and shell tore down from the heights 
into those steady, advancing columns of British and 
Portuguese infantry ! One yet more furious burst as 
glittering bayonets appeared over the ridge, then 
wild cheers of charging infantry, and after that a 
lull, while the smoke of black powder faded slowly 
away. A few more shots sent after the retreating 
enemy, then the pursuit, which ended in the victory 
at Vimeiro and led to the Convention of Cintra. 

Clouds come up out of the west and hurry inland, 
casting fleeting shadows over the landscape. They 
lose themselves among the rocks and in the gorges 
of that blue, shadowy ridge to south-west ; they 
give rise to little springs which trickle down among 
the ferns, they encourage moss and lichen to cover 
crumbling ruins formerly a convent dedicated to 
Nossa Senhora das Neves, " Our Lady of the 




197 



Obidos 199 

Snows." From out of the clouds the ruined convent 
looked down upon the doings of men, upon the 
fierce struggle that began at Roliga over a hundred 
years ago — the struggle in which the sons of Portugal, 
aided by their allies of old, rid their country of the 
invader, and disproved Bandarra's prophecy : 

Ergue-se a aguia imperial 

Faz o ninho em Portugal. 

(" The Imperial Eagle rises — makes its nest in Portugal.") 
There are other quintas round about the one in 
which the Holiday-maker spent those pleasant days, 
and they look out in various colours — -ochre, pink, 
or white — from among fruit-laden orange trees. 
Hidden away in a grove of olive and pine trees 
stands an old monastery. It is deserted but for a 
caretaker, yet in excellent repair. The part towards 
the garden, however, is decaying through neglect ; the 
columns that flanked the way to the fountains, the 
arches of the courtyard, have fallen, yet there is a 
lingering memory of the former owners in this peace- 
haunted spot ; you almost see the pale face of a 
brother looking out of some barred window, mildly 
wondering at the curious footsteps that disturb the 
stillness of this ancient sanctuary. In the chapel a 
surprise awaits you ; a large painting representing 
St. Michael hangs over the high altar. It is wonder- 
fully like the picture in the Louvre, so like, so vigorously 



200 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

executed, that it is impossible to believe it to be a 
copy. Yet no one knows the history of this work, 
and more's the pity! 

Just outside Obidos, at the parting of the ways, 
which lead, one up the hill to the town, the other 
at its foot to the station, stands Padre Antonio's 
church, dedicated to Nosso Senhore da Pedra, 
" Our Lord of the Stone." This church is of singular 
appearance ; it is built in no known style, and 
there is no other church in the world the least bit 
like it. One of its peculiarities is that the windows 
are placed one immediately below the other, the 
lower ones with the point downwards, so that, as 
Padre Antonio jestingly remarks, if you were to 
turn this church upside down it would still appear 
right side up. The church of Nosso Senhore da 
Pedra luckily has such a strong character, like the 
good priest who officiates within, that it can afford 
to be original. It contains matter of interest, too ; 
the painting over the high altar is well worth seeing, 
if only on account of the beautiful rendering of Mary 
Magdalene. Then again, in the sacristy, Padre 
Antonio will show you rich raiment, but his pride 
and joy are centred in a set of chairs. They are 
what are called Guadamiciles — carved wooden frames 
upholstered in Cordova leather stained pale blue, 
and stamped with intricate golden designs. 

Padre Antonio then led the Holiday-maker up 



Obidos 20 1 

to the old town of Obidos, entering by a narrow 
gateway. They went up to the high place from 
which the ruins of the ancient keep look grimly 
over the fair landscape. The square tower of the 
keep was built by one Antonio Muniz, of whom the 
following story is told. Antonio Muniz was the son 
of wealthy parents, whose wish it was that he should 
become a priest. But just at the time when this 
wish should have been fulfilled, war broke out over 
the succession to the throne of Portugal, so Antonio 
Muniz joined the army of the Master of Aviz, 
afterwards John I., and went out to fight the 
Spaniards. Before leaving for the wars, Antonio 
vowed to build a chapel to his patron saint if the 
arms of Portugal were crowned with victory. 
Aljubarrota was the answer to his vow, and so 
arose the tiny chapel dedicated to St. Anthony 
which gleams white against the blue sky of Portugal 
on a hill to westward, just across the railway line. 
Here Antonio Muniz lies buried. 

From the inner courtyard of the keep a broken 
staircase leads to what once were spacious apart- 
ments. A window opening more ornate than others 
in this stern building suggests that it may look 
back upon prettier scenes than those which war- 
fare has to offer. Here wedding bells rang out 
a merry peal when Dom AfFonso V., of whose 
unhappy childhood Cintra Palace was witness, married 



202 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

his first cousin Isabel, daughter of Pedro, Duke of 
Coimbra, Regent of the Realm. 

Padre Antonio and the Holiday-maker lingered 
on the ramparts of this ruined keep, commanding 
a glorious view of the surrounding country, as 
beautiful as any to be seen in fair Lusitania ; at 
their feet old Obidos with its narrow streets, encircled 
by stout walls now tottering to ruin. Here and 
there the narrow streets end in an open space, 
designed as market-place, and giving a better view 
of some old church. There is the church of Santa 
Maria, containing paintings by Josepha d' Obidos, 
one of Portugal's most famous painters. These 
pictures are peculiarly interesting. Some date from 
the time before Josepha went to Rome to study, 
others after that period ; and though the latter show 
greater skill and richer colour, something of the 
pleasing originality of her earlier work is wanting. 
Josepha was buried here in 1684, and by her side 
another who was well known and well beloved in 
his time, Francisco Raphael de Silveira Malhao, 
famous as a preacher. 

To southward, seen from the ruined keep of 
Obidos, the gentle hills rise higher and higher, 
merging into those blue heights along which are 
drawn the lines of Torres Vedras. The fertile 
valleys sleep in the midday sun, extending away to 
westward to the sea. There in the distance you 



Obidos 203 

may see the blue lake of Obidos, which is connected 
with the ocean by the little Arelho river. In former 
days, up to the beginning of the sixteenth century, 
the lake extended to the foot of this rocky promi- 
nence, making Obidos a seaport, separating it by 
water from the chapel of St. Anthony. Beyond 
the lake is rising ground whence you may see the 
Burlings, rocks that stand out into the ocean, in 
continuation of Cape Carvoeiro with its little sea 
resort Peniche. The broad white road that leads 
due north, past the church of Nosso Senhore da 
Pedra, is lost to sight in the luxuriant verdure which 
embowers Caldas da Rainha. This pretty little 
town was known for its health-giving waters as long 
ago as 1448, when Dona Leonor, wife of King 
John III., discovered their healing qualities. Caldas 
da Rainha has yet another attraction, a factory of 
that peculiarly Portuguese industry called " c£ra- 
mique." It was founded in 1884 by a great artist, 
Raphael Bordallo Pinheiro ; he died some time ago, 
but his genius still inspires the exquisite work 
fashioned here under his son's direction. 

Fleeting clouds come up from the ocean, casting 
their shadow over the face of the fair landscape. 
But the sun-touched places . show up in bolder relief — 
the quintas, ochre, or pink, or yellow, in rich green 
setting, the old walls and towers of Obidos. The rays 
of sunlight seem to tarry for a moment to listen to 
11 



204 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

the story of those walls and towers. There is one 
squat tower over a gateway which played its part 
in history when the loyal folk of Obidos held out 
in favour of Dom Sancho II. against the Duke of 
Burgundy in the thirteenth century. The Duke, a 
brother of the King, laid claim to the throne of 
Portugal and had invested Obidos. The town was 
hard pressed, and want of food began to undermine 
the power of the defenders of that gateway, which 
being most easy of access was most exposed to the 
fury of the assault. A shrine, dedicated to Nossa 
Senhora da Graga, " Our Lady of Grace," stood just 
within the gate, and the women of Obidos vowed 
that they would renew that shrine if their men held 
out — and this they did, until the Alcade of Coimbra 
brought news that Dom Sancho II. had died, without 
issue, so the crown passed to the Duke of Burgundy, 
as Dom Affonso III. A new shrine was then raised 
to Nossa Senhora da Graga. 

Five centuries later another story, of local interest 
only, centred in this gateway. A young lady of 
Obidos, daughter of a local magnate, fell in love 
with a young poet. The father did not consider 
this a good enough match, and had the young man 
turned out of the town. The poor girl went into 
a decline ; the anxious father gave in at last, and 
exerted all his power to recall the poet, who 
arrived only in time to see his lady die. On her 



Obtdos 205 

death-bed she had made a vow to the Virgin, 
promising to take the image of Nossa Senhora from 
its shrine and to build a small chapel for it inside 
the tower, should her lover return safely from Africa. 
The father carried out his daughter's intention, and, 
further, laid down sufficient funds to maintain an 
attendant priest. 

The clouds sail on, leaving Obidos to dream of 
the past, hurry on to cling round Nossa Senhora 
das Neves, who from her ruined sanctuary looks 
down serenely on the doings of men in the valleys 
below. 

Another shrine rises to Our Lady not far from 
the broad high-road that leads northwards from 
Caldas da Rainha, past the tiny harbour of 
S. Martinho do Porto. High up on a cliffy over- 
looking the ocean, stands a church dedicated to 
Nossa Senhora de Nazareth ; it is still in perfect 
repair, and thanks to the offerings of the devout 
is uncommonly wealthy. The story goes that Dom 
Fuas Roupinho, while out hunting one day, when 
stags were plentiful in the surrounding forests, lost 
control of his horse. He was carried to the edge 
of the cliff, and seeing his peril called to the Virgin, 
who heard him in his distress. By a miracle his 
horse pulled up sharp on its haunches, its forelegs 
over the precipice, and Dom Fuas was saved. To 
remove all possible doubt the exact spot where this 



2o6 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

happened is still shown. Nazareth itself is a tiny 
town at the foot of this interesting cliff; a diligence 
connects it with the railway station of Vallado. 

The same station serves a yet more ancient, 
yet more interesting town. A broad road, fringed 
with poplars, not always in the best repair, runs 
from Vallado eastward. It leads across the plain 
at first, through woods and meadows, then turns 
sharply to the right and rises up the side of a hill 
where pine trees grow from among the rocks, and 
graceful birch-trees stand out against the blue-green 
background. The woods recede in favour of houses, 
the uneven country road turns into a cobbled street 
which leads into a large square. It is Sunday, and 
teeming life is everywhere ; signs of it are in 
evidence along the road, a stream of country folk 
coming and going, some on foot, each man carrying 
his long quarter-staff^ many on active little donkeys ; 
sturdy peasants, good-looking country women, each 
with a friendly greeting for the stranger. Sunday 
is market day at Alcoba9a, and the venerable build- 
ings, church, and monastery look on upon a familiar 
scene — country produce displayed for sale under 
big umbrellas, pottery of all kinds grouped round 
the trunks of shady trees or aligned in the shadow 
of the church, along the wall. 

The origin of Alcobac.a is unknown. Dom 
Affonso Henriques, Portugal's first King, took it from 




20J 



Alcobaga 209 

the Moors in his victorious progress from north to 
south in 1 147. He tarried here where the little 
rivers Alcoa and Baca meet, before marching to 
attack Santarem. Ere he set out he promised to the 
monks of the Order of St. Bernard all the land 
which they could see from the neighbouring height 
of Albades, should his enterprise meet with success. 
We have heard of that desperate night attack which 
added Santarem to the many conquests of Dom 
Affonso Henriques. The King fulfilled his promise 
royally ; for besides granting the land, he founded the 
monastery as well, and it became the most important 
institution of its kind in Portugal — in fact, it was at 
one time the largest in the world. One thousand 
monks lived here permanently, many privileges 
became theirs, and their Superior was one of the 
highest dignitaries of the State. Persons of high 
station have held that office — Dom Affonso, the son 
of Manoel o Fortunato, raised to the rank of 
cardinal, when yet a child, by Pope Leo X., and 
after him his brother Cardinal Dom Henriques, last 
of the House of Aviz. 

The construction of these buildings lasted from 
1 148 till 1222, and was not without frequent in- 
terruptions. The Moors attacked Alcobaga repeatedly 
and sacked it in 1195. Then, when more settled 
times set in, the huge monastery flourished for a 
while. The monks kept open house and offered 



I 



210 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

board and lodging to all who came that way, while 
the library acquired rich treasures ; it is said to have 
contained 30,000 volumes. But other monasteries 
founded in different parts of the country detracted 
from the greatness of Alcobaga, and the glory de- 
parted for ever when Dona Maria II. suppressed 
all monastic institutions in 1834, twenty-four years 
after Massena's army of Vandals had passed this way. 

The buildings are now used for secular purposes, 
partly as Government offices, partly as barracks. But 
the beautiful church is still devoted to its former 
purpose. You enter under a Gothic arch which seems 
to rebuke the flamboyant rococo facade, to find your- 
self in the vast body of the church. Twenty-four 
pillars form each of the eight columns that soar up 
to support the arched ceiling, separating the nave, 
dedicated to the Virgin, from the north and south 
aisles, dedicated respectively to St. Michael and St. 
Bernard. This shrine is a vision of dazzling white 
stone, flecked with colour carried by the rays of the 
sun through stained-glass windows, or tinged with 
mysterious pearly greys where the shadows fall, 
or rest on pillars and arches of pure Gothic in 
majestic simplicity. Kings and princes lie buried 
here — Affonso II. and his son Affonso III., and 
Pedro, brother of the founder, Grand Master of the 
Order of Aviz. Mysterious shadows cling round the 
arches of a small chapel by the south transept ; the 



Alcoba^a 211 

faint light from a Gothic window, heavily screened 
with ivy from outside, falls on two sarcophagi, and 
suggests rather than shows the outlines of sculptured 
figures. The figures are placed with their feet towards 
each other, and that by order of him who rests in 
the sarcophagus supported by six couchant lions, 
Dom Pedro I. The other tomb, resting on six 
sphinxes, contains the remains of Ignez de Castro, 
whom Dom Pedro loved, and whose sad story is 
whispered by the reeds that fringe the Mondego, 
the Lovers' river, at Coimbra. These two have rested 
here for close on six centuries, in the hope that on 
arising at the Judgment Day their eyes may meet 
at once. 

Two Queens of Portugal are buried in this chapel — 
Dona Urraca, wife of Affonso III., and Dona 
Brites of Castile, married to Affonso IV. 

Of the five cloisters only one remains, that of 
King Denis, a fine specimen of mediaeval Gothic and 
Manueline. The influence of King Manuel's time is 
further evidenced in the doorway which leads to the 
sacristy, the work of John of Castilho, and another 
just opposite. 

The little river Alcoa flows under the church in 
the direction of the immense kitchen of the monks, 
through which water was formerly conducted by a 
channel traversing the stone-paved floor, and con- 
necting the river with the fish-ponds. A vast array 



1 



212 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

of culinary utensils was at hand, enough to cook 
dinners for an army in those days when the smoke of 
the wood fire curled up the sides of that immense 
chimney standing on its eight iron columns, those 
days when the monks of Alcobaga dispensed hospitality 
right royally. 

The country folk come up to Alcobaga of a Sunday, 
they trade with the townsfolk in the shadow of the 
great church. Who thinks, or even knows, of those 
days when Alcobaga took part in history, and gave 
a resting-place to monarchs who lived and strove 
for the greater glory of their country? 

It is only a short railway journey from Vallado to 
Leiria. The station is some distance from the town, 
and a diligence takes travellers to and fro. Leiria 
has its castle, standing high on a hill, with walls 
that come down to the town but do not, as at Obidos, 
encircle it. The town has a peculiar charm which 
it is difficult to analyse. It may be due to the little 
river Liz which flows so happily through it and 
reflects the trees that line the roads, or stand in 
groups, and adorn the well-kept public gardens. It 
may be that the Holiday-maker was well satisfied with 
what the hotel, named after the river, had to offer. 
Perhaps it was the busy market (Leiria has two 
market days a week), and those country women in their 
quaint costumes, which exercised a spell. Certainly 
the women were very pretty, some even beautiful ; 



Leiria 213 

whether bargaining or only looking on, or riding 
homeward, each on a nimble donkey, their graceful 
movements were a source of real delight. Towards 
evening there was a constant stream of lasses to 
and from the fountain close by the hotel. Each 
one balanced a large pitcher, in form the immediate 
descendant of the amphora, on her shapely head. 
The right way is to balance it in a slanting position 
when empty, upright when full, and it is then that 
the graceful carriage of these damsels is seen to 
perfection. Surely this is enough to bring contentment 
to a holiday-maker. But there are other attractions ; 
the narrow streets seem to give a better insight into 
their character when the sun has set and lamps 
are struggling rather vainly against the encroaching 
darkness. The tinkling sound of guitars and 
mandolins, and a band of young men, some carrying 
lanterns held high on sticks, others behind them 
playing, all marching in step to the rhythm of the 
music, swings round the corner of a street, then 
round another, and so perambulates the town. The 
townsfolk, especially the ladies, seem pleased with 
this attention ; and when the band happens to 
stop under the windows of one or the other 
of these old houses, a neighbouring street lamp 
looks very knowing, almost winks, as it suggests a 
time-honoured quotation beginning " sunt pueri 
pueri ! " 



214 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Yet another feature of Leiria adds to its attrac- 
tiveness — the old castle. It looks so friendly as it 
stands out, lit up by the morning sun. Unlike 
other castles, it does not frown down upon the 
men and women in the town below it ; on the 
contrary, it seems to smile sympathetically. Perhaps 
the large window openings cause this effect, they 
give the ancient stronghold a much more genial 
appearance than loopholes, which always suggest a 
store of arrows, bolts, or some such hurtful missiles, 
ready to fly on the least provocation. Again, the 
broken Gothic pillars of the chapel, which rise 
above the walls, help to soften the hard outlines 
of the fortress. The old castle of Leiria has seen 
stirring times. Moors and Portuguese fought for 
possession of it with varying success, for it was 
a place of great strategic importance in the Middle 
Ages. Dom Affonso Henriques first took it from 
the Moors; Dom Sancho I. gave a charter to the 
town ; Dom Diniz stayed here several times ; and 
the Cortes, the Parliament of Portugal, met here in 
*354> when Affonso III. was King, again under 
Dom Fernando in 1376, and lastly under Dom 
Duarte, 1436. 

It is pleasant to ramble about the ruins of Leiria 
Castle, to note the different styles of architecture 
as successive monarchs added to the structure. The 
view from the summit is very beautiful. Clouds 



Batalha 215 

are hurrying across the blue sky of Portugal, 
moving southward over the rolling country where 
the broad white road leads through pine forests, 
down to Alcobaga, Obidos, and over the heights 
of Torres Vedras to Lisbon. 

A broad high-road leads from Leiria to Batalha, 
the Westminster and Battle Abbey of Portugal, 
leads up and down hill, through pine forests on the 
heights, through fields of young wheat in the valleys, 
past pleasant homesteads embowered among olive 
trees, with here and there the pink blush of an 
almond tree. Mild-mannered country folk meet you 
and pass the time of day, some riding on donkeys, 
some encouraging other such hardy little animals 
to further progress under a heavy load. Fleeting 
clouds, rising up out of the west, scud across the blue 
sky of Portugal, hasten to the mountains, where 
they wreathe themselves about the rocky crags that 
crown the summit, and linger fondly in the hollows 
around the ruins of a deserted shrine or fallen 
monastery. 

From a high point on the road slender pinnacles 
and spires, fantastic stonework, carved so fine that 
it gleams like lace in the light of the sun, rise up 
from the valley below. This is Batalha, this is 
the shrine that Dom Joao I. swore to build should 
he defeat his enemy the Spaniard ; and this is the 
monument he erected, according to his vow, when he 



216 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

beat King Juan of Castile in battle near here, at 
Aljubarrota, and thus founded a new dynasty. The 
outside is a marvel of stone carving, rich, but not 
overpoweringly so. The effect of the abbey is 
strangely beautiful. Beautiful, too, it is when you 
pass in at the glorious west entrance into the shade 
of the sanctuary. Here are clusters of tall slender 
pillars, which separate to support the roof; the 
prevailing tone is a warm grey, verging into purple, 
with here and there a splash of bright colour where 
the rays of the sun strike through stained glass. 
The distant altars and transepts take on a paler, 
colder hue, preparing you for the exquisite rich- 
ness of the sculptured tombs that lie in their 
several chapels. 

Three tombstones detain us for a moment. 
Under one immediately inside the door lies Matheus 
Fernandes, one of the architects ; near him, but 
in a corner of the south aisle, a delicately chiselled 
stone covers Goncalo Travassos, tutor to a prince; 
and just before the entrance to the first chapel rests 
a hero, Martim Goncalves de Macada, who saved his 
King's life in battle. Here he rests, that chivalrous 
spirit, almost at the feet of his royal master, for we 
have to step over the warriors grave to enter the 
chapel where rest Dom Joao and his wife, Philippa 
of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt. They 
rest here, in a chapel of white stone, carved and 




217 



Batalha 219 

fashioned in wondrous designs, all beautiful, and on 
the big tomb lie their effigies in stone. In contrast 
to their setting these figures are plainly, severely 
wrought, and one is holding the other by the hand. 
And around them in the chapel lie others of their 
race. Here lies their son, Infante Dom Henrique, 
who so worked, to the greater glory of Portugal 
and greater honour to himself, at all which concerned 
seamanship that he became known to posterity as 
" the Navigator." This tomb is decorated with 
branches of yew and the device " Talent de bien 
faire," hewn in stone. There are yet others : Dom 
Joao II., whose body was first buried at Silves in 
the far south of the land ; then there is Dom 
Affonso, son of Dom Joao II.; Dom Affonso V. 
and his wife Isabel ; Dom Pedro, Duke of Coimbra, 
and Regent during the minority of Affonso V. till 
1447. Then comes Dom Joao, constable of the 
realm, and his proud device is " J'ai bien reson 
[raison]." Last comes Dom Fernando, pious and 
resigned, who died at Fez, a prisoner of the Moors, 
and under horrible sufferings. 

Yet another King and Queen of Portugal rest in 
this church — Dom Duarte (Edward) and Leonor, his 
wife ; they lie before the high altar, their feet towards 
the east, and the stone effigies upon the tomb are 
hand in hand. A figure of Nossa Senhora da Victoria, 
who gained the victory which led to the foundation of 



220 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

this glorious shrine, adorns the doorway of the south 
transept. 

There are other chapels, there are other monu- 
ments, and some pictures to see, but the warm rays of 
sunshine, coming through the stained-glass windows, 
draw us out into the open ; through two cloisters, 
both of singular beauty, but in very different ways. 
First comes the cloister of the Kings, and it is 
right regal. Profusely decorated arches follow each 
other round the quadrangle, and in no instance is the 
design of one arch repeated in another. There is 
music here too, for in one corner of the quadrangle 
stands the fountain, enshrined in richly sculptured 
stone ; its voice mingles with the song of birds, and 
there is everywhere the scent of flowers. The cloister 
of Dom Affonso V. is smaller, its lines are very 
graceful, and lack the exuberant stone carving that 
adorns the Kings' cloister ; it is simple, almost severe, 
yet beautiful. Here too are bird-song and scent of 
flowers. 

There was yet another cloister, that of Dom 
Joao III., but it has been pulled down, and modern 
offices are springing up in its stead. Winding your 
way between piles of bricks, mortar-pits, and such 
things as pertain to building, you turn to the right, 
and suddenly find yourself face to face with an 
astounding bit of work ; it is the entrance to the 
" Unfinished Chapel." A huge rope of stone has 



Batalha 



221 



been taken and twisted into all manner of fantastic 
knots — so it appears ; it is almost incredible, but there 
it is, hard stone knotted and twisted, the columns 
striving upwards spirally, then the ropes divide, and 
interlace and twine about until the eyesight is dazed 
by watching their contortions. And this doorway 
leads to the chapel which Dom Manoel L, called the 
Fortunate, was erecting when his attention became 
centred on the Abbey of S. Jeronymos, at Belem, 
which he had vowed to build in honour of Vasco 
da Gama's return. So here the chapel stands, 
unfinished to this day ; a rotunda with seven chapels, 
each one a gem of Manueline architecture, each one 
with decorations of a different design, and the graceful 
windows are adorned with stained glass ; but grass 
grows where the pavement should be, and the blue 
sky of Portugal is the roof to this, the " Unfinished 
Chapel." Thus it has stood for centuries, thus it 
may stand for many more — unfinished ; but this is 
Portugal. 

It stands serenely looking down on the little 
houses that surround it, does Batalha Abbey ; its 
clustering pillars commune with the sunshine that 
streams in through stained-glass windows. They 
talk of the mighty dead who rest beneath their 
canopies of fretted stones, of Dom Joao L, the 
founder, whose victory over the Spaniards caused them 
to arise, of his English wife, and their great son, 



222 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Prince Henry the Navigator, of the days when 
Portugal was great and glorious, and of the deeds 
that made her so. 

The light fades from the sky, leaving the stately 
nave in gloom ; clouds are travelling over the land 
and casting shadows on Batalha, the shrine of 
Portugal's glory. Clouds are passing over Portugal. 




223 



CHAPTER IX 



THE left bank of the Tagus recedes to the south- 
east, and forms a grand harbour, wherein all 
the warships of the world could easily find room to 
anchor. A point of land protects the harbour from 
the strong tide that flows in from the sea, though such 
protection is not necessary. The point is called that 
of Cacilhas, reached by a service of small steamers 
from the Caes de Sodre. Cacilhas and the sur- 
rounding country is a favourite holiday resort for the 
people of Lisbon, and from here you may go to 
Trafaria, through Almada, over the heights of Monte 
de Caparica, enjoying a glorious view of the broad 
river with its shipping, the capital, with its Govern- 
ment offices, gleaming above the forest of masts, rising 
tier upon tier. There is Fort St. George standing 
out of a sea of red-roofed houses, proud of its stern 
history, and rather sorry for the venerable cathedral 
with its disguise of scaffolding. To westward, on 
another hill, rises the beautiful dome of the Basilica 
d'Estrella, flanked by its graceful bell towers, behind 
it the dark cypress trees of St. George's Cemetery. 
12 22 5 



226 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Farther to westward, Belem, with its stout tower 
reflected in the water, the church of St. Hieronymus, 
that jewel of Manueline art, in its setting of waving 
palms, and above it the Necessidades Palace, with a 
background of dark pines. Yet farther out, the 
lighthouse, the azure coast of the Tagus, Mount 
Estoril with its embowered villas, Cascaes with its 
ancient fort ; and behind all this, to northward, the 
strong outlines of the Serra of Cintra, where the 
white cupola of the Pena palace gleams in the blue 
sky of Portugal. 

There were watchers on these heights when 
Dom Sebastiao, in 1578, set out for Morocco, never 
to return. Among these was Dona Magdalena, 
wife of Dom Joao de Portugal, and her sorrows are 
related in a drama, " Frei Luiz de Souza," by 
Visconde d' Almeida Garrett. Dom Joao sailed with 
his King, and left Dona Magdalena sorrowing in his 
castle at Almada. She exerted all her powers to 
obtain news of her husband, aided by his devoted old 
squire, Telmo Paes, but all in vain. So after seven 
years Dona Magdalena became the wife of a man 
she had loved for many years, Dom Manoel de Souza, 
a Knight of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, 
fearless and faithful. They had an only child, Maria, 
delicate in health and given to strange fancies ; old 
Telmo loved her fondly. Dona Magdalena still 
lived in uncertainty as to her first husband's fate. 



"Frd Luiz de Souza" 227 

Telmo would not believe him dead, for on the very- 
morning of the battle at El Kasr-el-Kebir, when the 
chivalry of Portugal went under in a sea of blood, 
Dom Joao had written to his wife, " Dead or alive, 
I shall reappear to you yet once again in this 
world," and the old servant was certain that his dear 
master would not fail to appear also to him who loved 
him so. 

The House of Aviz had died out ; a Spaniard, 
Philip II., first of that name in Portugal, ruled 
over that country. During the twenty years which 
had elapsed since King Sebastian crossed the bar 
and passed out to sea, many Portuguese nobles had 
become reconciled to Spanish domination, had even 
taken service under the foreign master. Of these 
were the governor and his council in Lisbon when 
the events here told occurred. Dom Manoel de 
Souza was informed one day that these authorities, 
well knowing his fealty to his own country, proposed 
to visit him, to make his house at Almada their 
refuge from the plague which raged in Lisbon. 
Dom Manoel determined that his house should not 
shelter them ; he prepared to remove to Dom Joao's 
castle, and before leaving set fire to his own 
mansion. Dona Magdalena glanced once more 
into that large room, chief witness to the happy 
family life of her second marriage — the room with 
the two large windows, lighting up the treasures 



228 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

gathered together from Portugal's over-seas empire- 
porcelain and lacquer work from China, rich em- 
broideries from India — which led to a wide terrace 
giving a glorious view over the river to plague- 
stricken Lisbon. Greedy flames devoured the 
hangings of those windows, and leapt at the picture 
fixed in the space between them, lighting up the 
portrait of a young knight robed in the black mantle 
of his order, showing vividly the white cross of 
St. John. The canvas curled and withered under 
the hissing flames, and Dona Magdalena fled horror- 
stricken from the room. Renewed agony overcame 
her when, entering the hall of her first husband's 
castle, the flare of a solitary torch shed its uncertain 
light on the portrait of Dom Joao. 

Only a week later Dona Magdalena was sitting 
in that hall with Frei Jorge the Dominican, 
Dom Manoel's brother, when a pilgrim was an- 
nounced ; he desired speech of the lady. He was 
admitted, and delivered a message from one whose 
captivity he had shared in Pagan dungeons, one 
who had loved the lady well, but had found it 
impossible to communicate with her. Dona Magda- 
lena began to realise that some dreadful revelation 
was about to follow ; Frei Jorge, still incredulous, 
asked whether the pilgrim could recognise his fellow 
captive's portrait. The pilgrim silently pointed to 
the portrait on the wall. Crying <£ My daughter ! 



* Frei Luiz de Souza " 229 

my daughter ! " Dona Magdalena fled from the 
room. Frei Jorge inquired further: "Pilgrim! pil- 
grim ! who are you ? " And again the pilgrim's 
, staff pointed to the portrait on the wall. 

While this was happening Dom Manoel and his 
daughter were returning from Lisbon. Re-entering, 
Maria found her mother prostrate, and herself was 
stricken with a haemorrhage which threatened to 
prove fatal ; the poor child had some subtle intuition 
of the terrible trouble which had befallen her 
parents, although no word had been said to her 
about it. 

For the unhappy parents there was no way out 
of the difficulty than to separate and each to seek 
monastic seclusion. The Patriarch of Lisbon con- 
firmed their opinion, and made smooth the way for 
the fulfilment of their purpose. 

None but the Patriarch, Dom Manoel, Magdalena, 
and Frei Jorge knew then that the pilgrim hiding 
in the friar's cell was Dom Joao of Portugal. He 
declined to see any one but faithful old Telmo, 
who did not at first recognise him. When Dom 
Joao then revealed himself, Telmo was torn between 
love of his old master and deep affection for Maria. 
His position was made yet more unbearable when 
his old master sternly ordered him to declare that 
the pilgrim was an impostor, for Dom Joao, seeing 
what grief he had brought to his former home, 



230 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

desired to disappear again for ever. But Fate, acting 
through Holy Church, had otherwise ordained. 

The organ filled the church of the Dominicans, 
adjoining the castle of Dom Joao, with solemn 
harmonies as the monks chanted : 

De profimdis claraavi a te, Domine ! 
Domine exaudi vocem meam ! 

when little Maria, risen from her bed, ran up to her 
parents and tried to raise them from their kneeling 
position on the chancel steps. The pilgrim entered 
during this interruption, urging Telmo to proclaim 
him liar and impostor. But it was all of no avail. 
Holy Church pursued her way relentlessly; what that 
Maria died as her parents lay prostrate, face down- 
ward, arms extended cross-like before the high altar ? 
The organ's solemn harmonies rolled on as the monks 
sang the verses of the Hebrew poet to the inexorable 
God of the Hebrews. 

No vestige remains of Dom Joao's castle, no 
trace is left of Dom Manoel's mansion, and the sad 
story of their misfortunes is only half remembered ; 
not even that, perhaps, by those who cross over 
from Lisbon to Cacilhas on a Sunday morning, in 
order to enjoy the glorious air, the lovely view from 
the heights of Caparica. Among these, one Sunday 
morning, was the Holiday-maker. He was bound 
for Alfeite, for a high-placed personage had given 



Alfeite 231 

him permission to visit a king's palace there. Alfeite 
is only three miles or so from Cacilhas, so the 
Holiday-maker shouldered his painting kit and 
walked briskly to his destination. A drive through 
a park leads to the palace, where an official called 
" almoxarife " (steward) received the Holiday-maker 
with true Portuguese courtesy, and showed him all 
there is to show. 

The palace is nothing more than a commodious 
country house, built by Dom Pedro V. in 1857, 
surrounded by charming gardens, with a glorious 
view of Lisbon from the terrace by the sea. It 
became a royal domain as long ago as the four- 
teenth century, when Eleanor, wife of Dom 
Fernando I., took possession. It has since passed 
through several hands, till it again became the 
property of the royal family in 1707. There are 
pleasant walks about the extensive park, with here 
and there a glimpse between pine trees, over the 
harbour towards Lisbon, or to eastward an extensive 
view of the marshy country about Seixal, with its 
background of pines and grey olive groves. 

All these things the kindly almoxarife showed the 
Holiday-maker, and then left him to his own devices, 
which resulted in a sketch of the river to northward. 
The sketch was just finished when the almoxarife 
returned, followed by a groom leading a handsome 
bay horse. The Holiday-maker was invited to mount, 



232 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

which he gladly did. Then followed instructions in 
Portuguese, tinged with French, but inadequately 
understood. At any rate, the Holiday-maker, after 
a ride in the park, returned to the palace, where a 
servant motioned him towards the exit, the road to 
Cacilhas. Inquiries, probably misunderstood, as to 
the painting kit provoked identical gestures. The 
Holiday-maker therefore concluded that a groom had 
taken the painting kit to Cacilhas, and was waiting 
there to bring the horse home again. Most con- 
siderate, a very delicate attention, thought the Holi- 
day-maker, as he rode along the road thronged with 
others, in carriages, on donkeys, or on bicycles, all 
loudly happy. But at Cacilhas there was no groom 
waiting to take the horse home, so the Holiday- 
maker explained his predicament in his own rendering 
of Portuguese, and with much fore-hand action, to a 
courteous sergeant of the Guarda Fiscal, a military 
body which sees to the Custom dues. The horse 
indulged in some forehand action too, tried to balance 
itself on a long, wavy tail, and generally indicated 
that this was no time for " palaver." The sergeant 
endorsed the Holiday-maker's explanation, of which 
he understood nothing, with a polite " Si, senhore,' 
and then himself started a fine discourse, encouraged 
by an audience of five small boys. The only 
answer to this brilliant speech was " Si, senhore," 
and the discussion threatened to lead to no results. 



Barreiro 235 

Fortunately a subaltern officer of the Guarda Fiscal 
came that way ; a happy inspiration led the Holiday- 
maker to address him as Senhor Capitao, and, better 
still, the gallant gentleman knew French and English 
well. He knew the horse too, had it taken to the 
stable, to stay until some one should come from 
Alfeite to fetch it, and undertook to send the painting 
kit over to Lisbon on the following day. A very 
polite note accompanying the painting kit, escorted 
by a bouquet of camellias, informed the Holiday- 
maker of the nature of the misunderstanding. It 
was meant that he should promenade the park 
only, then return to take tea at the palace with the 
almoxarife, who feared lest he had offended the 
Holiday-maker that he had ridden away without 
the usual farewells. 

There are other attractions on the left bank of the 
River Tagus. Leaving Black Horse Square in con- 
nection with trains that run to the extreme south, 
through the Alemtejo to the distant Algarve, a steamer 
takes you to Barreiro, the terminus of the Southern 
Railway. The steamers, beyond the fact that they 
transport passengers from one bank of the river to 
the other, have little to recommend them. They are 
not distinguished for cleanliness, or any other form 
of comfort. Neither has Barreiro any great attrac- 
tions to offer ; at first sight some might even find 
the place uninteresting, and the smell which emanates 



236 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

from the chemical works is a little too rich for ordinary 
mortals. Yet Barreiro is a place of some importance ; 
it has factories, exports cork in different phases, and 
harbours a population which gives expression to political 
fervour by letting off fireworks on all occasions. 

The Holiday-maker, as it happens, is very fond 
of Barreiro, for there he met with more than usual 
kindness, even for Portugal. Moreover, his tempo- 
rary home there offered another attraction, in addition 
to the delightful company of his friends : there was 
a cork factory close by, and to see other people work 
is always a joy to the real holiday-maker. 

The immediate surroundings of Barreiro are not 
strikingly attractive, but here and there you may 
find a pretty bit — some old quinta, either ruined 
or, if inhabited, vainly trying to conceal decay, 
picturesque under the shadow of upstart eucalyptus 
or venerable pine trees. A broad road leads inland, 
almost due south, through cork forests or lined by 
tall poplars, past cultivated fields, with here and there 
a whitewashed homestead, until you are brought up 
sharp in front of a long building. Here is Azeitao, 
and the big block of buildings was once a monastery ; 
close by stands a neglected ducal palace. A road 
crosses the one we came by here, leading on the right- 
hand side over the Serra dArrabida to Cezimbra 
on the coast ; to the left hand the road leads away 
to Setubal and down into the Alemtejo. 



Arrabida 237 

For a day in the open, ascending higher and 
higher into clear mountain air, there are few places to 
equal the Serra d' Arrabida. To enjoy it thoroughly 
you must be in good health and indifferent to minor 
inconveniences, which after all are more or less 
imaginary ; above all you must be imbued with the 
spirit of holiday-making. There is a road up to the 
summit, recently constructed, but the right way to 
enjoy the excursion is by the local means of transport, 
donkeys. A sinewy elder, appropriately called Figo 
Passado, " Withered Fig," will supply any number 
of donkeys if given reasonable notice, and awaits 
your arrival at the cross-roads. Saddle and bridle 
are unknown. A loosely-stuffed sack is bound on 
to the donkey's back, and hides all but his extremities. 
On this ladies sit sideways, men astride, and you may 
endeavour to guide your steed with the rope that 
goes about the donkey's head if it amuses you — it will 
not in any way affect the pace or direction of your 
mount. Figo Passado and his fellows go with you 
on foot, carrying long quarter-staffs, and order the 
pace by frequent exclamations : " Ah ! " " Burro ! " or 
the animal's name, which may be that of a Minister 
of State, chosen temporarily, and possibly in supposed 
accord with the tourist's political views. The direction 
is entrusted to the donkey which from its earliest days 
has shown a desire to lead ; even a leader may be 
an ass, and find other asses willing to follow. There 



238 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

are numerous tracks over the mountains, some not 
visible to the naked eye, others which serve the 
additional purpose of watercourse; and the foremost ass 
leads through a maze of these, over rocks and heather, 
through thick scrub, or under the stunted trees of a 
dense forest, with marvellous surety, made pleasanter 
by the reflection that the journey is bound to lead 
somewhere. Emerging out of the jungle-like forest, 
full of life — heard, not seen — gnarled boughs and 
twisted branches rustling in harmony with tiny 
streams that tinkle down the valley over mossy rocks, 
a clearly defined path, interrupted by an occasional 
rock, leads along the south side of the crest to the 
ruined monastery of Bom Jesus d'Arrabida. 

Here Arabs probably had a fortified station ; the 
tall, solemn cypresses seem to brood over the 
memories of their time. Then Christian monks 
settled here, and to them the present mass of 
irregular buildings is due. There are a tiny chapel 
and tinier cells, fountains in recesses with stone 
benches, and on the walls traces of decorations made 
of fragments of broken bottles, the use of which, no 
doubt, those pious brethren eschewed. The decora- 
tions have almost entirely disappeared at the hands 
of visitors, who perhaps did not share the same 
objection to the bottle. There are terraces with 
shady corners suitable for picnics, and down far 
away down the hill-side is the sea, in the intense 



Bacalhda 239 

colours of sapphire, amethyst, and emerald, stretching 
away into the warm southern haze, broken faintly 
by the sandy point of Sines. 

Seen from the lofty ridge which shelters the wide 
bay below, the country to south-eastward looks singu- 
larly attractive. There is a little town at the mouth 
of a wide river, Setubal ; the river, Sado, winds away 
inland, and is lost to sight among the slight undu- 
lations of the ground. 

In order to make closer acquaintance with the 
details of the landscape seen from the Serra d'Arra- 
bida, you turn sharp to the left at the cross-roads 
of Azeitao. It is well to travel, as the Holiday-maker 
did, in a sixty horse-power motor-car, for the road 
is long, there is much to see, and holidays are quickly 
sped. The road runs straight, lined by tall trees, 
beyond which the deep green foliage of orange trees, 
gleaming with golden fruit, droops over enclosing walls. 
A gentle turn to the right, slightly uphill, through a 
little village, Villa Fresca d'Azeitao, and the road 
resumes its former direction, running beside a long 
wall, some ten feet high. At the eastern end this 
wall is broken by squat round towers with quaint, 
fluted stone roofs, and above them rises yet another 
royal palace, falling to decay. This, the palace of 
Bacalhda, despite its ruined state, is a fine specimen 
of the architecture of two periods, or perhaps the 
transition from the Gothic to that of the Renaissance. 



240 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Some give Sansovino as the architect, others ascribe 
it to Andrea Contucci, and it is said to have been 
built for Dona Brites, daughter of Dom Joao, in 
the fifteenth century. Dona Brites left this palace 
to Dom Diogo, son of the Duke of Vizeu, Dom 
Fernando, her husband, and perhaps it was due to 
him that the portrait of the lady figures amongst 
several others here. It seems that Bacalhoa changed 
hands, for Dom Carlos bought it from the Duke 
dAlemquer in the last century. It was never 
repaired, and now stands desolate with fallen roof 
tree. A broad terrace, overgrown with grass, the 
sides yet decorated with azuleja, leads to an artificial 
lake expressing sadness over past glory in its unbroken 
reflections. 

Dom Manoel II. sat by this water not so long 
before his warships shelled the royal palace of 
Necessidades, and revolution raged in the streets of 
his capital. 

The road then leaves human habitations behind 
and takes to the mountains, sweeping in wide curves 
over the irregular eastern spurs of the Serra 
dArrabida. At every turn a fresh view opens out, 
unfolding a glorious panorama. There are deep 
valleys that run at random between the rocky and 
heather-clad heights, there are little hills rising out 
of the valleys, both richly cultivated, then above 
this the rambling outline of the mountains sloping 



Setubal 241 

away to southward, giving a glimpse of the sea, and 
to eastward allowing the ancient castle of Palmella 
to look over the ridge occasionally. Flowering 
broom covers the hill-sides and steep slopes with 
its golden glory ; heather, white or purple, stands 
higher than it does in Scotland — it is in places like 
a bush, some four to six feet high. Hidden in the 
long grass or in the shadow of rocks are many shy 
little flowers, living quite content without a sight of 
the great world of which broom and heather see so 
much, and discourse so ably when the sound of 
men's labours dies away on the evening breeze. 

Having crossed the mountains, the road runs 
down into the plains and has less occasion for so 
many curves. Signs of human occupation increase 
as the road passes through walled -in orange groves 
to Setubal. 

Setubal (St. Ubes) is a very important place — 
any one who lives there will tell you so. It stands 
at the mouth of the River Sado, has a sheltered 
harbour, and overlooks a bay which is full of fish. 
So fishing-boats go out to the bay and find employ- 
ment for many; the fruits of their labours, chiefly 
the daintier kinds of smaller fish, are tinned at 
Setubal, and very excellent food are those sardines 
and mackerel. Then Setubal exports oranges and 
wine — is in fact very important, in spite of its rather 
sleepy air. When Setubal does wake up, things 



\ 



242 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

happen, and politics are found to be very rousing. 
Last October's revolution in Lisbon filled the people 
of Setubal with republican zeal : something had to 
be done — things could not continue as they were — so 
a band of zealots marched to a monastery outside the 
town, to sack and burn it. This feat accomplished, 
the people of Setubal returned to their former state 
of dignified repose, which is only broken by an 
occasional strike or the echo of some riot in Lisbon. 
It is most unfortunate that the records, accounts, and 
similar documents in the archives of the town also 
became a prey to the flames, although in the middle 
of the city, far from the scene of conflagration. It is 
said that the mayor, brave man, bore this loss nobly ; 
but what a misfortune it is that documents dealing 
with a city of such importance can no longer serve 
to inform future generations ! 

Setubal, for all its modern aspect — it has a park, 
or gardens, and an avenue, fringed with trees — dates 
some way back into history ; down by the river stands 
an old fifteenth-century fort called Torre do Outao. 
The Queen, Dona Amelia, established an excellent 
hospital here for scrofulous children, in 1900 — no 
doubt Setubal is duly grateful. Older still than 
Torre do Outao are the ruins that stand on the 
spit of land which just divides the mouth of the 
river from the open sea; here is Troia, formerly a 
Roman city. 




243 



Palmella 245 

Failing a motor-car, Setubal can be reached by 
rail from Barreiro ; a branch line from Pinhal Novo 
leads to Setubal, passing by Palmella. But the best 
approach to Palmella is from Setubal : again you pass 
between walls that enclose orange groves ; over the 
tree-tops loom the mighty ruins of an ancient castle. 
The road winds round the rocky eminence on which 
the castle stands, crossing and recrossing the old 
road used by the knights, a stone-paved road 
leading straight down. A very steep ascent through 
the village of Palmella, where windows and door- 
ways fill with curious spectators attracted by the 
snorting motor-car, ends at last under the ramparts of 
the fort. Here a great many different epochs are 
represented. There are stone ramparts with gun 
embrasures, suggestive of Vauban, walls and towers 
within this enceinte dating back through the Middle 
Ages to the days of the Moors. The mosque still 
stands ; its outer wall formed the curtain between 
strong towers which remain to this day. The Christian 
built his church inside the walls ; the Mussulman built 
his mosque either without or as part of his defences, 
being convinced that Allah was quite capable of 
looking after his own. However, he failed to do 
so on several occasions during the wars between 
Cross and Crescent in Portugal, and on one such 
occasion Palmella changed hands. The strategical 
and tactical importance of Palmella is evident from 
13 



246 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

its position, so it became a very strong place with a 
large garrison, as well as a settlement of knights of 
a military monastic order, that of St. Iago of the 
Sword. 

Like most other orders of this kind, that of 
St. Iago of the Sword, of Spain, tried to trace its 
origin back to very remote times. It was said that 
Rameiro, first King of Galicia, instituted the order 
in 846 to commemorate a famous victory over the 
Moors, of whom 67,000 had fallen. This success was 
attributed to the saint, who, rather against his former 
habits, was seen in the thickest of the fray, fighting 
like the best of them, holding in one hand a blue 
standard on which was a red sword with a cross hilt. 
This remarkable attention on the part of the saint 
could only be met with the courteous institution of 
an order, dedicated to the saint alone, and, following 
his excellent example, devoted to the effective method 
of convincing your opponent by killing him. The 
King gathered together the gentlemen who had dis- 
tinguished themselves in the fight, united them into 
a confraternity, and gave them as arms a sword gules 
on field ore, with the device " Rubet ensis sanguine 
Arabum." The only drawback to the latter end of 
the story is that armorial bearings did not come into 
use till after the tenth century or even later ; up to 
that period only private or individual devices were worn. 

From more reliable sources it is evident that the 



The Order of St. Iago 247 

order dated from the twelfth century. There are 
records showing that in the reign of King Ferdi- 
nand II. of Leon and Galicia the Moors interfered 
very much with the pious pilgrims to the shrine of 
Compostello, the sepulchre of St. Iago. The canons 
of St. Eloy, whose monastery stood in the Galician 
mountains, devoted their very considerable fortune 
to the building of hospices for the pilgrims along 
the road to Compostello, the " Voie Francoise." The 
first of these hospices, that of St. Mark the Evan- 
gelist, stood outside the walls of the city of Leon, 
the second overlooked the defile of Castile and was 
called Delas Tiendas. But further precautions were 
necessary for the safety of the pilgrims, so thirteen 
knights, invoking the protection of St. Iago, bound 
themselves by a vow to guard the road to Compos- 
tello against the Moors. They communicated their 
purpose to the canons of St. Eloy, then united 
their goods to further their pious endeavour and 
to benefit those who should come after. Between 
them these knights owned more than twenty castles ; 
the canons considered the proposal very " good 
business," and, accepting all offers of assistance " vi 
et armis," became in time connected with this order, 
even subservient to it, acting as chaplains. A pact 
regulating the relations between the two orders 
was sealed in 1 1 70 by Dom Pedro Fernando de 
Fuentes Encalada on account of the knights, and 



248 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

for the monks by another Dom Fernando, after- 
wards bishop, whose epitaph in the abbey church 
of Ucl£s reads as follows : 

OBIIT FERDINANDUS EPISCOPUS, B. MARLE PRIMUS 
PRIOR ORDINIS MILITLE S. JACOBI ERA CCXI. 

Pope Alexander III. confirmed the order in 
1 j 75; he also permitted the knights to marry. 

The first feat of this order was the capture from 
the Moors of Caceres, in Estremadura. Then they 
moved on from victory to victory, helping to conquer 
Badajoz and Buexa, Luchena and Montemor. 

When Dom Diniz was King, and nationalised all 
the military orders with a view to the consolidation 
of his kingdom, the branch of this Spanish Order 
of St. I ago, in Portugal, would probably have 
become Portuguese too. At about this time the 
badge was slightly altered ; it became a sword the 
blade of which widened out an inch or two below 
the hilt, ending in a somewhat blunted point, 
handle and cross-bars spreading out into fleur-de-lis 
at the extremities, and this remained the badge of 
the Spanish order. 

In the badge of the Portuguese branch the point 
of the sword is turned into a fleur-de-lis, as well 
as handle and cross-bars. 

No doubt the Order of St. Iago in Portugal 
aided the endeavours of those who built up Portugal's 



Palmella 251 

over-seas empire, though there are no records avail- 
able to show to what extent it did so. Surely 
knights of this order accompanied King Sebastian 
on his ill-fated expedition to Morocco, but again 
there are no authentic records. 

But their castle of Palmella still stands on its 
rocky height, and, though ruined, bears traces of 
former splendour which point to power and riches, 
and these probably made the knights a nuisance 
rather than a help, and brought about the dissolution 
of the order in 1834. The castle in its palmiest 
days probably served a double purpose ; the eastern 
and older portion contained a garrison of royal 
troops. Here is the mosque, here the stout main 
tower surmounted by a minute sentry-box, of stone, 
with openings to give a comprehensive view of the 
surrounding landscape. And such a glorious view ! 
— to the south Setubal and the sea, the River Sado 
winding through pine forests ; the undulating plains 
of the Alemtejo to eastward, broken by the purple 
line of heights before Casa Branca, fading into blue 
distance towards Spain ; to northward in the plains, 
the silver Tagus and Lisbon, behind these the dim 
outline of the Serra of Cintra ; while to westward 
the vine-clad foot-hills rise into the imposing masses 
of the Serra d'Arrabida. A winding staircase leads 
up to the summit of this stout tower, and down to 
dungeons in the bowels of the earth. 



252 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Between the western portion where the knights 
lived and the quarters of the secular garrison stands 
the ruined chapel of the order. Its original struc- 
ture is of pure Gothic, but defiled by additions in 
eighteenth-century taste. The arched roof of the 
nave still protects the massive tombstones, carved 
with armorial bearings, resting-places of the knights ; 
but the chancel roof has fallen, and broken steps 
lead to the high altar, stripped of all its decora- 
tions but for a piece of marble, a richly coloured tile 
or two. 

Close by the chapel, and to westward, steps 
lead to the apartments of the Grand Master, rooms 
of state, where important guests were welcomed ; 
thence you may wander through long corridors with 
little cells on either hand, through grass-grown 
cloisters falling into decay. The refectory, with its 
quaint eighteenth-century doorway, is open to all 
the winds that blow, and grass grows up between 
the tiles that pave the floor. Azulejas of eighteenth- 
century workmanship decked the walls and the 
reading-desk — a recess in the wall, reached by a 
doorway and a narrow winding staircase. These 
azulejas have nearly all disappeared — the good folk 
of Palmella have a taste for such things, and found 
a definite use for many things the knights had left 
behind them — furniture, window frames, and other 
inconsidered trifles. 



Palmella 253 

The pleasantest spot in all this vast castle is 
the terrace. It overlooks the blue plains of the 
Alemtejo to the south, and has a shady corner with 
a broad stone bench. Here the Holiday-maker 
spent a day in pleasant company, listening to a friend 
who could tell of knights and their deeds, and of 
those days when Portugal was great, before Palmella 
was given over to ruin and desolation. 



CHAPTER X 

ON leaving Setubal the road bears east by a 
point or two north, in order to join a road 
connecting the railway at Pinhal Novo with the 
country between the coast and the line which runs 
farther inland. To reach such places as Alcacer do 
Sal, Grandola, S. Thiago de Cacem, and Sines the 
ordinary traveller has to journey by diligence, as the 
motor-car service has been discontinued. This 
mode of conveyance is bearable for short distances, 
and the company, being Portuguese, is courteous 
and entertaining, though one or the other fellow 
traveller may be too strongly flavoured with garlic. 
The remarks interchanged between the driver and 
passers-by are also diverting. The Holiday-maker 
once drove from Sines, in the company of friends, 
to S. Thiago, conveyed in a smaller species of 
diligence drawn by a bay horse of leisurely habits. 
There were many others on the road, and each 
had some remark to offer after passing the time 

of day. One kindly soul suggested, " Do not go 

254 



Alcacer do Sal 255 

to S. Thiago ; it is cold there " ; but as the Holiday- 
maker and his party were within half a mile of that 
town it was too late to turn back, so the lady's 
advice was disregarded, and the driver continued 
his address to the bay horse, " Va ! casta — nhe ! " 

A drive of twelve hours or so by diligence is 
rather more than ordinary holiday-makers chose to 
stand, and this one was fortunate enough to be taken 
in a friend's powerful motor-car. The road leads 
through a vast plain, cultivated in places, in others 
a glowing mass of heather and broom, with clumps 
of umbrella pines here and there. The broad, 
marshy expanses of the Sado River are being 
reclaimed for rice, the young blades spreading a 
web of tender green over the rich black soil. Then 
the road rises over the western end of a ridge which 
reaches its highest point at Montemor, near Evora, 
to eastward, to Alcacer do Sal, skirts the town 
in a wide sweep, drops down to the River Sado, 
crosses it, and bears on due south through Grandola 
to S. Thiago de Cacem. 

From the banks of the river, beyond the bridge, 
Alcacer do Sal looks most imposing. The houses 
rise in tiers up the side of the hill, and on the 
highest point stands the ruined castle, which contains 
a small but interesting archaeological museum. It 
is an ancient city, Alcacer do Sal, and was im- 
portant in its time. The Romans found a Celtic 



256 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

settlement here, built a castle, and called their colony 
Salacia, on account of the salt industry they founded, 
which still keeps the citizens leisurely employed. 
Pliny the Younger speaks of Alcacer do Sal as 
" Salacia, cognominata urbs imperatoria." That the 
Moors gained possession of the town and castle is 
proved by the present name ; of the history of 
the interval between Roman and Moorish rule 
nothing is known. The Moors named the town 
Al-Kassr, and held it until the Christian armies 
from the north drove them out at the end of the 
twelfth century. But the Moors returned five years 
later under Al-Manssor, and retook the whole province 
of Al-Kassr, Evora alone holding out against them. 
But their stay was short; in 12 18, during the reign 
of Affonso II., Alcacer was definitely reunited to 
Portugal. It is a pretty old town, with its white 
church and houses clustering round the hill crowned 
by the ruined castle of Roman, Moorish, Christian 
governors. There is also an old abbey church, 
fenced in by a hedge of prickly pear, so useful for 
hanging out the washing ; a lacework of white fruit- 
blossoms hides the grey walls long before the winter 
ends in more northern countries. 

Through gently undulating country, covered by 
extensive cork forests, the road leads ever south. 
Grandola is a small, straggling township, with little 
of interest ; it is not even particularly pretty, though 



S* Thiago de Cacem 257 

here, as elsewhere, wayfarers group themselves 
picturesquely to discuss their concerns, and no doubt 
those of others, with due deliberation. The road 
begins to ascend and descend in rather steeper 
gradients ; it curves rather more boldly round rocky 
prominences. The country is laid out more for 
agriculture than for cork forests, though they loom 
grey in the distance, when from rising ground a 
line of windmills stand up white against the blue 
sky. On approaching nearer a further height comes 
into view, and on its crest a mass of walls and towers, 
surmounted by white spires, flanked by soaring 
cypress trees. This is S. Thiago de Cacem, with 
its line of windmill outposts. Passing through the 
line of windmills, the road winds down steeply to 
where the town begins to ascend the hill on which 
the castle stands. Here the road rests before 
hurrying on round the hill, in an open space, where 
the leisured of S. Thiago de Cacem — they are 
many and of all classes — assemble to watch the 
arrival of the diligence, to stare hard at strange 
motor-cars, or, failing those attractions, to wrap them- 
selves in profound thought — at least this is what 
their appearance suggests. There are, of course, 
some amongst this gathering who are not, strictly 
speaking, men of leisure ; it is only their method 
of doing business which is leisurely. The most 
important among these are they who come from 



258 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

the cork forests carrying little sacks filled with 
specimens of cork-wood ; this is an important feature 
in the commercial life of the countryside. There 
are also one or two small stalls where divers com- 
modities are sold, or not, according to the eagerness 
of seller and buyer. The most picturesque of those 
who have their business in this open space are 
the water-sellers. They cluster round the big fountain 
filling their red earthenware jars, which fit into a 
framework fastened to a donkey s back. This done, 
and the situation, whatever it may be, thoroughly 
discussed, the water-sellers perambulate the streets 
offering their ware, " Agua fresca ! " 

S. Thiago, for all its sleepy air, is an important 
place, and has been so for many centuries. Exactly 
how many centuries it is difficult to tell, for the 
earliest days are veiled by legends. Yet it may be 
supposed that either here, or very near, was an 
ancient settlement, Merobriga, and the ending 
"briga" invariably denotes Celtic origin. It is 
possible that the Phoenicians called here, as they 
did elsewhere in the peninsula, but nothing remains 
to show that they did ; and then it is so long ago — 
they first visited Spain fifteen centuries before the 
birth of Christ — and many more recent nations and 
cities have vanished in the meanwhile. The first 
to shed light on the history of this town, or what- 
ever town stood here, was Pliny the Younger 




259 



S. Thiago de Caccm 261 

again ; he mentions cities of Celtico- Phoenician 
origin, among them Merobriga Celtici. Rezende, an 
illustrious Portuguese historian of the sixteenth 
century, in his " Antiquitates Lusitaniae," declares, 
that : 

i( Plinius Merobrigae meminit, ac mirum est 
Cetobrigam omisisse in ora positam, cum Salaciam 
multo interius locatam non praeterierit, neque Mero- 
brigam, sex fere milibus passus ab littore separa- 
tam. Verba illius sunt : Oppida memorabilia a 
Tago in ora, Olysippo, equarum e Favonio vento 
conceptu nobile, Salacia cognominata urbs impera- 
toria, Merobriga, promontorium sacrum, et alterum 
Cuneus. 

" Interiit autem Merobriga, in cujus locum suc- 
cessit juxta oppidum S. Jacobus cognomine Cacem, 
oppidum in excelso colle positum." 

He goes on to describe the place as surrounded 
by walls with towers, some whole, others broken ; 
he mentions an aqueduct, and a bridge spanning 
the valley, and other such matter which lends 
importance to a city. 

Rezende seemed quite satisfied that S. Thiago 
de Cacem succeeded Merobriga, on the same site, 
and considers several Latin inscriptions as evidence 
additional to Pliny's statements. Two of these 
refer to a Roman family who must have been of 
some importance in ancient Merobriga — which, by 



262 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

the way, had its municipal institution, the Curia, 
according to the following inscription : 

C . NVMISIO C . F . FVSCO 
VI . VIRO-. SEN . 
TATINIA Q . F . 
FVLVIANILLA 
VCSOR 
PER MITTENTE . ORD . 
MEROBRIG 

To the Sextumvir Caius Numisius Fuscus, son 
of Caius, his wife Sentaninia Fulvianilla, daughter 
Quintus, by permission of the ' 'Curia" of Merobriga. 

No one questions the fact that the Romans 
came here, for they held the whole of the Peninsula 
in their power for centuries ; they certainly built 
here too, for there are traces of a Roman encamp- 
ment not far from the windmill outposts, and below 
it in a little valley a fine Roman bridge leads over a 
small stream. The bridge is going to pieces under 
pressure from a sturdy old cork tree, the roots of 
which are displacing the big blocks of stone with 
which the bridge was built. The question is 
whether S. Thiago de Cacem stands on the exact 
spot on which stood Merobriga, whether the castle, 
" Muri cum turribus," is that which Pliny wrote 
of, or whether Merobriga vanished completely 
when the Barbarians came down from the north 
and swept away the old civilisation. 



S* Thiago de Cacem 263 

The question remains unanswered, as it seems, 
yet that need not worry holiday-makers, for the 
ruined castle that now frowns down on the narrow 
streets of S. Thiago de Cacem has taken part 
in many stirring events. It saw an ordered state 
of affairs arise when the Barbarians settled down, 
and under Ataulpho, King of the Goths, it is said 
that the town enjoyed municipal rights and privi- 
leges. 

Musa-ben-Nosseir, with his swarms of warriors, 
disembarked on the coasts of Andalusia in a.d. 712, 
and nine months later the last King of the Goths 
fell in battle at Guardalete. Then by degrees the 
followers of the Prophet spread over the Peninsula, 
and the names of many places still recall their day. 
Strange to say Merobriga is mentioned by none of 
the Moorish historians ; perhaps the people of that 
town resigned themselves quietly to the domination 
of the invaders, accommodating themselves to 
everything except in matters that touched their 
Faith. So of the five centuries during which the 
Moorish dominion lasted here little is known, and 
it is only a matter of conjecture that the name 
Cacem is derived from a Moorish governor, or 
Kaid, Kassem. 

Recorded history begins here with the conquests 
of Dom Affonso Henriques and his Christian army. 
The King had promised to give the Knights 



I 



264 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Templars who assisted him one-third of all their con- 
quests in the Alemtejo in 1169. Two years later 
the Moorish province of Al-faghar (Algarve) was 
all the Moors were able to retain west of the 
Guadiana, and during this period the castle of 
Cacem was captured by the Templars. But they 
could not hold it for long. Yussuf Abu Yacub, 
Amir of Morocco, returned to the Alemtejo in the 
same year, and again in 1184, so Cacem became 
Moorish once more. Then the Alemtejo and Algarve 
became the scene of desperate struggles between 
Christians and Pagans, who disputed every foot of 
ground, until Dom Sancho I. was at last enabled , 
to give this town and castle to the order of Sant' 
I ago, whose warrior priests had taken possession. 
But five years later, in 1191, Al-Manssor's success- 
ful invasion not only brought the Alemtejo under 
Moorish rule again, but also deprived Sancho of 
much which he had inherited from his father. Not 
till the reign of Affonso III., at the beginning of 
the thirteenth century, was the Alemtejo reunited 
to the kingdom of Portugal, and the blue cross of 
the Burgundian dynasty replaced the crescent on the 
high towers of S. Thiago de Cacem. 

It is not right to contradict a lady, but history 
does so in the case of Bata9a, for she laid claim to 
the conquest of S. Thiago de Cacem. Perhaps, 
however, she was guiltless and historians are at 



Batata 265 

fault (history was not always an exact science). 
They, at all events, mostly remain unknown, while 
Bataca's name still lives. 

Bataca was a widow, and travelled in search of 
distraction. Like other widows since her time, she 
interested herself in other people's concerns, and 
also got others to take an interest in hers. Of 
these, Rezende the historian was one. He lived 
about three centuries after her, yet his devotion led 
him to believe in her thoroughly. It is he who 
supports her claim to S. Thiago de Cacem, dis- 
regarding dates and such-like historical impediments 
to the growth of legend. Of course she was a 
lady of good family, exalted family in fact, for she 
was connected with the Comneni, who sat upon the 
throne of old Byzant. She went farther, and even 
pretended to that throne ; and as her claims met 
with no consideration at home, she and her sisters 
Yolanta and Beatrice set out upon their travels. 
They arrived at the Court of Aragon, and Bataca 
laid her case before King Pedro. That gallant 
monarch could think of no practical means by which 
he could assist Bataga in her pretensions ; how- 
ever, he did the best in his power by supplying 
her sisters each with a very desirable husband. 
This was of little use to Widow Bataga, so she 
offered herself as chaperone to Dom Pedro's 
daughter Isabel when that lady went to Portugal 



i66 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

to marry Dom Diniz, king of that country. She 
spent some time at the Portuguese Court, and then 
accompanied Dona Constanca, who went off to 
Castile to marry Dom Fernando IV. But Queen 
Constanca died, and as the Court of Castile got 
tired of the widow, she took a handful of fighting 
men and embarked for Portugal. A storm obliged 
her to land at Sines, where her band of followers 
was increased by some knights of Sant' Iago, and 
with this devoted band she stormed and seized the 
castle called Cacem. 

Rezende, the devoted historian, had gone very 
far wrong in his dates, however, for the Lady 
Bataca came to Portugal during the reign of King \ 
Denis, between 1279 and 1325, says Frei Francisco 
Brandao, the chronicler of that time, whereas the ! 
Moors had been driven from the Algarve in 1249. 

Bataca s pretensions to the throne of Constantine 
were brought to naught by the Latins, who had 
taken Constantinople during the fourth crusade, and 
were little disposed to give it up again. However, it 
is pleasant to reflect that Bataca managed to " put by 
a little bit " ; she lived on the revenues of S. Thiago 
de Cacem and other little possessions at Coimbra, 
bequeathing all her worldly goods to that city when 
she died, in 1336. Rezende says that she rebuilt 
the church of Sant' Iago Maior at Cacem, and there 
appears to be no reason to doubt this statement. 



S. Thiago de Cacem 267 

S. Thiago de Cacem then lived a peaceful exist- 
ence, governed by a self-elected municipality, gaining 
in importance ; it acted wisely in sending one Joao 
Lourenco to Coimbra when, in 1385, the Cortes, 
speaking for the Portuguese nation, called Dom 
Joao to the throne as first King of that name. 

Troubled times came to the ancient town when 
the armies of France invaded Portugal, but the men 
of S. Thiago de Cacem rose to the occasion, as is 
shown by the correspondence between the city 
fathers and the authorities of other places. Among 
this correspondence are two peculiarly dignified 
letters, addressed to the commanders of British 
men - of - war, which hovered about the coast of 
Portugal. 

A translation of the letters is here given : 

" Friends and Commanders of the 
English Squadron, 

" True friendship ever results in most invin- 
cible union. The Portuguese nation, which has 
always been fond of you, finds itself to-day reduced 
to such extremes that all Portuguese are up in 
arms against the enemy, who, though reduced in 
numbers, is crafty and deceitful. We ask your 
help, which you may send safely by the port of 
Sines ; you will find it freely open to you. Assist 
us with arms and soldiers, for the French deprive 



268 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

us of both. The bearer of this is Alberto Magno 
de Assis, who will tell you what are our sentiments, 
what our needs." 

This was signed by the President of the Chamber, 
Francisco Onofre de Faria, and all the councillors 
and other members of the municipality. 

Other letters refer to the assistance given by 
Great Britain, the gun-running in which His Britannic 
Majesty's ships were frequently engaged. The 
commander of one of these ships, a frigate which 
had found her way into Sines harbour, received 
the following letter from the municipality of S. Thiago 
de Cacem : 

" Friend and Milord Commander of the 
English Frigate, 

" The benefits we have received always give 
rise to the sincerest demonstrations of our grateful 
hearts. The proof of friendship which your admiral 
has given to this portion of the Portuguese people 
is a memorable cause of gratitude for us and for 
those that come after us. That generous deed 
obliges us to call in person, through the means of 
a deputation, in order to thank you, and in you the 
whole British nation, for the relief your services 
have brought us." 

Those troublous times are happily over, and 



S. Thiago de Cacem 271 

S. Thiago pursues the even tenor of its way, while 
the ancient castle looks down into the narrow streets 
and over the fair country. There is the line of 
windmill outposts, on rising ground which runs from 
east to south in rolling folds ; the broad fields are 
under cultivation, the valleys densely wooded. To 
westward the country drops down towards the sea ; 
a large sheet of water gleams through the pine 
trees that dot the country down to the sands — this 
is a large lagoon which varies in size according to 
the tides. Fish is very plentiful in this lagoon, and 
the reeds along its shore shelter many wild birds. 
A sportsman out shooting one day in 1820 brought 
down a large white eagle, which had a silver ring, 
engraved " Ludovic Napoleon, Juin 18 15," on one 
leg. But the wild birds are getting rarer, for man 
is making the lagoon useful ; it is being drained by 
degrees, and rice grows on the reclaimed land. 

The broad white road leads on westward, past 
stately quintas embowered among olive and orange 
trees, overtopped by pines and eucalyptus, through 
cork forests, or by the cottages of those who till 
the fields. The sea encroaches gently on the coast, 
leaving a point of land, rocks, and sand standing 
out into the ocean. This is the Cape of Sines, and 
the town and harbour of that name lie immediately 
to southward of it. 

Sines is most favourably situated ; the town stands 



272 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

on a rocky amphitheatre enclosing a small bay. A 
spit of rock points from the end of the cape to 
southward as protection against the heavy Atlantic 
swell. The crest of this high breakwater has a stone 
parapet, and from here you have a lovely view of 
Sines and its harbour. Immediately below is a tiny 
inner harbour, where fishing-boats are made fast to a 
short pier. The waters swing gently in the shadow 
of the high breakwater, deep purple, blue, and green ; 
beyond, in the sunlight, the intense blue of the sky 
is reflected in the sea, but broken by myriads of 
sparkling facets, or tips of foam that lap about an 
exposed rock or two, or creep over the curving 
expanse of golden sand. Thence rises a rocky slope, 
covered with dark-green scrub, with here and there a 
patch of red earth. A red-roofed cottage or two has 
left the precincts of the town to get a nearer view of 
the sea ; graceful palm trees break the straight line 
of terrace connecting the town of Sines with its cape. 
Red-roofed houses, white, ochre, or pink, group 
round the church and the old castle, with its round 
towers and grey battlements. 

One of the little houses that face the sea, though 
very humble, rises above its neighbours in historic 
import, for here Vasco da Gama was born. Possibly 
the little house has been reconstructed since those 
days, but the lower part of the structure certainly 
remains untouched, and its stones dream of the great 



Sines 273 

past. They may have known the days of Bataga, 
who, it is said, built that quaint white church, which 
stands a little apart, but in full view of the sea. An 
inscription on the fagade of this church states that 
Vasco da Gama rebuilt it in 1529, but he had died as 
Viceroy of India five years before that date, so his 
heirs must have been responsible for the reconstruc- 
tion. Certain it is that Vasco da Gama on his way to 
India, or returning home, could see this church from 
his ship ; he never failed to fire a broadside as salute 
when the familiar building came in sight ; hence the 
name, " Nossa Senhora das Salvas." 

Sines is connected with the outer world, to sea- 
ward, by a weekly service of small steamers, so its 
produce — fish and cork-wood — can find an outlet. By 
land there is nothing but the diligence for travellers 
who cannot afford a motor-car along the high-road. 
Sines would make an ideal winter resort, and under any 
other European government would have grown in im- 
portance. But owing to the primitive land communi- 
cations, Sines, with its lovely climate and delightful 
sands, remains unknown to the traveller ; so does 
picturesque Alcacer do Sal, and S. Thiago, with its 
interesting castle, its beautiful surroundings, and its 
bracing air. 

The people of S. Thiago de Cacem and of Sines 
welcome passing travellers, and do their utmost to 
make their stay pleasant ; to this the Holiday-maker 



274 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

bears testimony. Those were pleasant days on the 
golden sands of Sines, where pine trees come down 
close to the sparkling sea, and the lazy waters of the 
bay reflect the blue sky of Portugal. Full of delight 
were the hours spent among the wooded hills of 
S. Thiago de Cacem, or among the ruins of its 
historic castle, commanding a glorious view. It was 
carnival time, and of an evening tinkling mandolin 
and deep-toned guitar accompanied the sentimental 
songs of Lusitania, in the narrow streets, under 
latticed windows. 

Successive generations of bad government have 
left these towns without the means of modern com- 
munications, and have thus crippled their develop- 
ment. The old order perished last October, making 
way for a new state of affairs. The enthusiasts who 
rose to power on the tide of revolution promised great 
things to those towns that lie along the road from 
Setubal to the Cape of Sines. But the new order 
has brought no change here. Alcacer do Sal and 
Grandola, S. Thiago de Cacem and Sines, have still 
to content themselves with promises, 



THE CASTLE OF EVORAMONTE. 
275 



CHAPTER XI 

BARREIRO is the terminus of the Southern 
Railway line, which indifferently connects the 
provinces of Alemtejo and Algarve with the capital. 
Both these provinces have much that is beautiful and 
interesting to offer as attraction to holiday-makers. 

The line runs due east for a while through level 
country covered with vines, a vast vineyard, the 
largest in the world, and all the property of one man, 
S. Jose Maria dos Santos. Familiar Palmella is in 
sight for some distance, on the right-hand side, while 
away over the plains to northward the blue hills of 
Estremadura merge into the sky. At Vendas Novas, 
where there is an artillery school, the line bears 
more to southward and enters among hills covered 
with cork forests, ascending in wide curves, then 
descending to Casa Branca. 

Here the Holiday-maker arrived one day on a visit 
to a friend whose large estates lie in the hills. 
The bailiff had come down to the station, and with 
courteous gesture pointed out the best conveyance, 

a two-wheeled mule-cart, the sitting accommodation 

277 



278 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

being a large straw-stuffed sack. Attempts at con- 
versation between the bailiff and the Holiday-maker 
failed for two reasons. The first was ignorance of the 
other's language — partial in the case of the latter, 
complete in the case of the bailiff. He had consulted 
a colleague on the subject, and the older, more 
experienced man had declared that conversation 
with an Englishman ignorant of Portuguese would 
certainly present some difficulties at first — but there, 
" he will say a word or two in his language, you will 
say a word or two in yours, and in time you will get 
along famously." This might have happened but for 
the second reason, to wit, the state of the road. Was 
it really a road, or did the mules only pick their way 
where there were fewer cork trees to impede their 
deliberate progress ? The cart, springless, of course, 
performed the most astounding feats — climbing rocks, 
dropping with one wheel into ruts, fetching up sharp 
with the other wheel against a big stone, and generally 
behaving like a small boat in a choppy sea, only much 
worse. The Holiday-maker might have walked, but 
he made up his mind to see the new experience 
through, and clung to the unsteady craft with a valour 
as determined as that of any mediaeval, Moor-killing, 
monkish knight. 

A troubled passage down a steep incline, avoiding 
cork trees with astounding skill, a plunge over rocks 
into a dry water-course, and the mules came to a 



Boa F£ 279 

standstill before embarking on the next ascent up 
a hill-side, bare of trees — but there was a track, a 
distinctly visible cart-track. The tall figure of the 
lord of the manor came striding down the hill, and 
led the battered Holiday-maker, by a path through 
the tender green of young crops, to his quinta. 

The Great House of the parish of Boa Fe (" Good 
Faith ") stands on the crest of a hill overlooking a 
lovely landscape. The house is a long, one-storied 
building, whitewashed, with a red-tiled roof, out of 
which rise the wide white chimneys peculiar to 
Portugal. There is a terrace before the house, 
connecting it with a row of whitewashed cottages. 
Women sit in the doorways, preparing food or 
mending clothes. One or other cottage has a kind 
of pergola, festooned with vines, to protect its inmates 
from the hot rays of the midday sun. Under such 
a pergola sat Senhora Maria, Madonna-faced, with 
bonny children playing about her knees. The rays 
of sunlight sought her through the vine leaves, and 
played on the scarlet kerchief that framed her face. 
Have you any idea how beautiful you looked, Dona 
Maria, that sunny day in February, when you sat 
before your door with your children playing about 
you ? 

Maria's husband holds the post of " Guarda 
florestal " on the estate of Boa Fe, an office which 
corresponds in a measure to that of gamekeeper. 



280 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

But the " Guarda florestal " has greater responsi- 
bilities. He is invariably an old non-commissioned 
officer of the army, and is appointed by the 
Government, or rather, lent by the Government at 
the landlord's request. He is therefore an official, 
and has authority to arrest poachers, trespassers, and 
other offenders. He is also able to read and write, 
an accomplishment peculiar to but three or four others 
of the two hundred souls who make up the population 
of Boa Fe. The bailiff himself is illiterate, but few 
have read deeper in the book of nature, or know more 
about her kindly ways, kindlier than elsewhere here 
in sunny Portugal. But accounts must be kept, and 
this is done by Maria s husband, the " Guarda 
florestal." 

Then there was old Joachim, an elderly labourer, 
whose cottage the Holiday-maker visited by invita- 
tion. Joachim rose from his little stool inside the 
huge Alemtejan fireplace, whence you look up through 
the wide chimney to a deep-blue sky. The smoke 
of a wood fire curled upwards lazily, clinging to the 
stone sides until, reaching the opening, it gradually 
vanished. Joachim removed his broad-brimmed hat, 
requested his guest to remain covered, and greeted 
him with the delightful old-world courtesy of the 
Portuguese. Old Maria, Joachims wife, brought up 
another stool, placed it inside the fireplace — the place 
of honour — and assisted in the conversation without 



Boa Fe 



281 



appearing to have an eye on the many little pots and 
pans grouped in the glowing embers. Scrupulous 
cleanliness everywhere ; the paved floor as clean and 
white as the scrubbed table, polished earthenware, 
quaintly painted, and the bedroom, with its big box- 
like bedstead, covered with linen coarse but spotless, 
opposite which, in a little niche, stood an altar, sur- 
mounted by a coloured print of the Virgin Mary 
framed by a couple of candlesticks and vases holding 
fair flowers. 

Outhouses, stables, barns behind the quinta, and 
beyond them again cork forests. The lord of the 
manor took his guest through these forests ona" tour 
de propri^taire " ; up hill and down dale, under the 
shade of cork trees of all ages, lacework of grey-green 
foliage overhead, flickering shadows underfoot, and 
between these the stems, pale grey in the upper 
reaches, and warm red-brown where the cork-wood 
had been peeled away. To the usual voice of the 
forest was added the sound of much grunting, some 
querulous, some satisfied, for a large herd of red 
Alemtejan swine were out in search of food, while 
the swineherd leant upon his quarter-staff and con- 
templated their round sides with satisfaction. Indeed, 
the pigs that fatten on the acorns of the cork tree 
grow to prodigious size. The Holiday-maker once 
met another herd of them at a wayside station, waiting 
to be entrained in order to fulfil their destiny ; they 



282 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

were so fat that the swineherd had to lift them up by 
the tail out of their recumbent position. 

The path, leaving the cork forest behind, began to 
mount a high hill, but had to give up the attempt 
owing to dense scrub and rocks. However, it was 
well worth while to continue the struggle, for a 
glorious view rewarded the exertion. This height of 
Sobral, over four hundred yards above sea-level, 
looks down on the surrounding country, and gives a 
good idea of an Alemtejo panorama ; there are 
rolling hills, mostly clad in the grey-green of cork 
forests, others cultivated, some covered with rock and 
scrub, out of which a group of pines rises majestically. 
One of the hills is crowned with a ruined castle, 
Montemor, and behind it the plains fade away into 
blue distance. Legend attaches to the height of 
Sobral ; an oblong stone, like a fallen pillar, lies 
embedded in the soil on its summit. Here, it is said, 
a Moorish princess lies buried, and the bold man who 
unearths her and kisses her to life again may marry 
her and become possessed of enormous riches. But 
though the men of the Alemtejo are bold, no doubt, 
they are also capable of great contentment, and do 
not hanker after wealth thus gotten ; they also seem 
well satisfied with the buxom lasses of the Alemtejo, 
so the Moorish princess is likely to rest under her 
tombstone until the crack of doom. 

It was Shrove Tuesday, the day on which, for 



Boa F6 283 

many generations, the villagers of Boa Fe assembled 
to dance and make merry on the terrace of the 
quinta. There were great preparations in the 
morning, mysterious flittings of female figures, in what 
may be called the chrysalis stage of Sunday finery, 
from one cottage to another. Dona Maria was too 
busy with her tribe of little folk to waste time on her 
personal adornment — besides, she always looked so 
neat and comely that no last touch was ever needed. 
Others, however, were not so easily contented with 
themselves ; in the shade behind the row of cottages 
sat a maiden on one of those low, bright-painted 
Alemtejan chairs. She held a small mirror in her 
hand, and scanned it anxiously while yet another lass, 
with nimble fingers, intensely in earnest, dressed her 
hair — such heavy, blue-black tresses. Then, after 
lunch, the view from the terrace became animated. 
From every side they came, for the cottages of Boa 
Fe are widely scattered ; they came in groups from 
out of the forests, appearing, disappearing, re- 
appearing among the cork trees, the men with their 
long quarter-staffs, the broad-brimmed hat denoting 
holiday, their short jackets over their shoulders, to be 
donned on reaching the terrace of the Quinta. The 
lasses' heads were for the most part discreetly 
covered with a becoming kerchief which yet could not 
quite confine an errant lock of hair or two. Such a 
delightful gathering, those slight but active, straight- 



284 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

limbed men, those pleasant-faced, sunburnt lassies, 
and all so neat and clean and healthy-looking. They 
came up to their landlord and greeted him with 
simple courtesy, then chatted with their neighbours, 
picturesquely grouped. The village carpenter came 
with his mandolin, and being a person of importance 
was invited to the dining-room, which opens on to the 
terrace, to take a glass of wine. Other notables were 
there already — the priest, of whom more anon, the 
Regedor, a kind of magistrate, " poderoso," a man of 
weight, with definite views on most subjects, and huge 
whiskers round his jolly face. A very silent man, 
dressed entirely in black, commands respect ; he is 
the local Croesus, a charcoal-burner, and can put his 
hand on ^200 any day he likes. These three, the 
Priest, the Regedor, and the Charcoal-burner, are the 
leading lights of intellect in the parish, for to them 
reading and writing are no longer mysteries. Another 
sunburnt little man, dressed in brown, black-braided, 
is invited to drink wine — he is the sacristan, a serious- 
minded person, as becomes his high office, but he can 
unbend. After wiping his lips he produces a fife, and 
a preliminary flourish brings additional animation to 
the groups on the terrace. Then the carpenter tunes 
up, and the fife shrilly accompanies in a quaint lilt 
to which generations of Portuguese have danced and 
made merry. Dancing proceeds merrily for an hour 
or so, while the dignitaries watch benevolently from 



Boa ¥i 287 

the dining-room windows, till the lassies group round 
the sacristan, who stands ready with his fife, in a 
space cleared for the fandango. This is danced by- 
men only, one showing how to do it, another vis-a-vis, 
who in his turn will show you how to do it better, 
and so on, till one dancer is proclaimed master of the 
art. The fandango is a combination of all steps 
possible to a certain rhythm. 

After sun-down dancing is continued in a barn, 
while the notables bid their host a stately farewell 
over a last glass of wine. All this time Pedro, the 
servant, has been enormously busy, yet not too busy 
to slip out and dance a round or two. Pedro is the 
faithful, irrepressible sort of servant who figures in 
novels like " Gil Bias." He is always cheerful, ready 
for any amount of work, cooks well, and fancies 
himself as a wit. He certainly is most amusing, 
and never at a loss for some appropriate addition 
to the conversation while he waits at table. So 
Pedro was very busy on that day in February, yet 
he danced all night, danced till the last of the 
merry-makers went out of the barn into the light of 
early morning. 

The priest supped at the quinta that Shrove 
Tuesday evening, according to time-honoured custom. 
A mild-faced man of thirty, well-read, and kindly 
for all his many troubles. He lives in a quaint 
old farm-house, in a fold of ground among the 
T 5 



288 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

hills, and rides his grey mule to service at the 
whitewashed church every morning. He farms a 
little land himself, and with the proceeds and his 
stipend of two shillings a day supports his aged 
parents and an unmarried sister, a brother incapable 
of work, and his wife and family, and also educates 
a younger brother. Surely his path is not an easy 
one, and recent edicts of an atheist Minister of Justice 
are like to make it yet more full of thorns. To- 
wards the end of supper Pedro burst into the room, 
announcing one who wished to speak with the lord 
of the manor. There entered a strapping lad, who 
had come to ask the patrao to be witness to his 
wedding with Conceicjio. " But I thought it was 
to Dolores," said the patrao ; " surely you were 
engaged to her ? " " True, patrao ! but still I would 
rather marry Concei^ao. I like her better, and the 
parents of Dolores do not like me." Priest and 
patrao point out the enormity of such fickleness, 
while Jose the culprit remains unmoved. When all 
arguments fail, and Jose" has listened courteously, he 
intimates that Conceicjio, one of the ladies in the 
case, is waiting patiently outside. Pedro is ordered 
to bring her in at once, and bonny Conceicjio goes 
straight up to her friend the priest, and standing 
behind his chair lays a confiding hand on his 
shoulder. Conceicjio says little, but admits a fond- 
ness for wayward Jose, so the patrao and the priest 



Evora 289 

remonstrate no further, and probably by now each 
has taken his respective part at the nuptials of 
that handsome couple. 

Casa Branca is quite an important railway junc- 
tion ; all trains stop here, even the express on the 
main line, before hurrying down south, past Beja 
with its castle built by King Denis, the tower of 
which, built of marble, is a monument to the glory 
of Gothic architecture in Portugal, away to where 
the Atlantic swell presses on to the Straits of 
Gibraltar, passing Faro and ending at Villa Real de 
Santo Antonio, by the banks of the River Guadiana, 
the frontier between Portugal and Spain. A branch 
line runs east from Casa Branca, curving in and 
out among the hills till, leaving them to north-west, 
it shows another ancient city, with walls and towers 
and high spires rising out of the plain — Evora, the 
capital of the district, famous in the history of 
Portugal. 

Evora dates far back into history — no one knows 
exactly how long, or what race laid the foundations 
of the city. Certain it is that the Romans had a 
colony here, and, being orderly historians, they 
recorded the fact ; then came the barbarians, and 
history made way to legend for a while, but even 
legendary lore concerning their sojourn here, on the 
banks of the little river Degebe, is not forthcoming. 
Of the names the Romans gave the city — Ebora, 



290 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Liberalitas-Julia, the former survives, and it is inte- 
resting to note that Ebor is the classic name for 
this the seat of the Archbishop of the Southern 
See of Portugal, as Ebor, the same name, is for that 
of the Archbishopric of York. 

The Goths were driven out by the Moors, who 
held this strong city, calling it Yeborah, until in 
1 166 the Knight Geraldo came this way. Of him 
many tales are told. It is said that for some act of 
violence he had lost the favour of his king, Dom 
Affonso Henrique, son of Henry, Count of Burgundy 
and of the Portuguese counties. He therefore did 
the only thing which was sure to restore him in his 
sovereign's good graces — he set out to conquer 
castles and strong cities from the Moslem. As to 
the means applied to that end by Geraldo at Evora, 
there are various stories. One tells of a Moorish 
maiden who loved Geraldo or one of his warriors — 
it matters little at this distance in time — and admitted 
him of an evening through a postern gate in one 
of the strong towers. One evening the swain 
brought a few other gentlemen with him, all armed — 
it was safer in those days ; the lady opened the 
gate as usual, whereupon the strangers entered and 
took possession of the city. Another version has it 
that outlawed Geraldo, having killed the King's 
favourite in single combat, took to the mountains 
with a small band of kindred spirits, whose chief he 



Evora 291 

became. They emerged from their hiding-place 
among the hills of Montemor and marched on 
Evora. Geraldo approached the walls one night, 
and made a kind of ladder by inserting spears into 
the interstices of the stones, climbed up and slew 
the Moorish sentinel, whereupon his band followed, 
and thus they captured the city. At any rate a 
grateful King rewarded Geraldo by appointing him 
" Alcaide mor," Governor of Evora. 

A broad avenue leads from the railway station 
to the town, ascending gently till, after crossing a 
large open space, the Rocio, devoted to fairs, it 
narrows down into a small street at the Porta do 
Rocio. The public gardens are close by here, skil- 
fully laid out just inside the ancient remains of the 
city walls. These now serve as a terrace from which 
you overlook the Rocio and the country beyond, 
where a suburb is growing up, for Evora is a flourish- 
ing little town. Standing out above the tree-tops on 
the other side of the Rocio are numerous little round 
towers, with pointed pinnacles. They are part of 
a very singular building dating from the end of the 
fifteenth century, and of Gothic-Norman construction. 
It looks like a small castle, but is really the Hermitage 
of St. Braz, and is a reminder of an epidemic of 
the plague which devastated Evora in 1479. 

Close to the public gardens is a large building 
which shows signs of more or less recent additions 



292 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

which have much interfered with its former elegance ; 
this is the palace in which Dom Manoel o Fortunato 
gave to Vasco da Gama the command of those little 
ships which sailed round the Cape of Good Hope 
and laid the foundation of Portugal's empire in 
India. Leaving the gardens by the North Gate 
you enter the precincts of what was formerly a large 
Franciscan - monastery, but all that is now left of it 
is the handsome church, with its graceful porch. 
This Gothic nave is in a manner reminiscent of 
the Abbey of Batalha ; moreover, one of the warriors 
of King John I. lies buried here, under a broad 
stone in the floor — Rodrigues de Vasconcellos, who 
at the battle of Aljubarrota led " the Lovers' Wing." 
Added to this church is a chapel decorated throughout 
with human bones. Over the doorway stands the 
\ inscription : 

N6s, ossos que aqui estamos, 
Pelos vossos esperamos. 

(" We whose bones lie here await yours.") 

All this is the work of former Franciscan monks, 
and no doubt the idea itself, so thoroughly " banal," 
is theirs too. It is certainly a likely product of the 
mind diseased which seeks to serve God by declining 
most of His beautiful gifts to the children of men. 

There were many monasteries and convents in 
Evora, but of the buildings very few remain. Such 
as are left are now put to some useful purpose ; for 



Evora 293 

instance, the " Convento da Graca," formerly inhabit- 
ed by Augustine monks, is now an infantry barrack 
and military hospital. Dom AfFonso de Portugal, 
Cardinal Archbishop, son of Dom Manoel o Fortunato, 
lies buried by the altar of this Renaissance church 
" da Graca." 

The life of Evora centres round the Praga de 
Geraldo, an oblong open space with a church looking 
down its entire length, and an ugly fountain in the 
middle. This unpleasant feature is redeemed by 
two arcades which support the old overhanging 
houses, on one side of the Praga : here Evora 
does its shopping. Possibly there are still some 
windows in that arcaded row of houses which looked 
down wonderingly at the sound of hammering early 
on the 20th day of June, 1488. A scaffold arose, 
troops marched on to surround it and keep back 
the interested populace, while others escorted the 
third Duke of Braganca to pay with his head for 
having risen against his King. 

The Rua de Sellaria, a quaint, narrow street, 
leaves the " Geraldo " and leads, on the right-hand 
side, towards the rising ground where the historic 
interest of the city chiefly centres. The ancient 
keep was here, the keep which Geraldo sem Pavor 
(" without fear ") stormed sword in hand with his small 
band of outlaws. The Romans held this formidable 
stronghold ; the tower of Sertorius, the Roman 



294 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

general, and an aqueduct likewise named after him, 
speak of their day. Geraldo, on driving out the 
Moors, became governor, and also Master of an 
order of knighthood instituted by Dom Affonso 
Henriques, and called " Cavallaria de Evora." It is 
pleasant to reflect that Geraldo and his brigands 
submitted to the strict rules of St. Bento, ordered 
their lives according to the statutes of the Cistercians, 
and therefore must have died in the odour of 
sanctity. The palatial buildings that enclose the 
little Prac,a de S. Miguel, now dilapidated, housed 
the valiant knights ; they performed their devotions 
in the neglected hermitage chapel dedicated to the 
saint. The palace became the property of the 
Counts of Basto, and is a fine specimen of a 
nobleman's fortified town house, looming over the 
street below. 

Dom Sancho I. removed the knights from Evora, 
granting them permission to acquire a suitable site 
for a new castle. They had wandered about Portugal 
without result for some time, when they halted 
near Portalegre one day and idly watched two eagles 
soaring over a rocky height — this they took as an 
omen, built their castle, and named themselves Knights 
of the Order of Aviz. 

The rules of this order were very strict ; they 
eschewed all luxury, wore a black cape and scapula 
over the plainest clothing, and allowed no gold 



The Order of Aviz 297 

to glitter on armour, sword, or spurs. They rose 
betimes in the morning and attended mass and 
orisons, fasted on Fridays, kept silence, and generally 
behaved with monkish decorum, except when fighting 
the Moors, which probably made a pleasant change. 
They were trained to becoming modesty in times 
of peace ; so when a Knight of Aviz, going on his 
way, met a monk of some other holy order, he 
dismounted, and having received the monk's blessing 
would accompany him on his way, which must have 
led to edifying converse. Again, should a member 
of any religious order pass by a castle of the 
Knights of Aviz, the governor would hand over the 
keys to the itinerant monk and take all commands 
from him. All this was very beautiful, and it happened 
long ago. 

The most interesting part of Evora is that which 
lies about the cathedral. Two ancient fanes, one 
ruined, the other still serving its original purpose, 
stand near each other, and each bears testimony 
to a Faith which has inspired noble works. The 
cathedral dates back to the twelfth century ; its facade 
speaks of the stern simplicity of those days, but 
the interior has suffered much by attempted improve- 
ments during many generations, and the lavish display 
of ornaments detracts from the beauty of the Gothic 
pillars, hewn out of Portuguese marble, from the 
quarries of Montes Claros, the Serra d'Ossa, Villa 



298 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

Vicosa and Borba. Infinitely more beautiful is the 
other fane, a Roman temple, said to have been 
dedicated to Diana. The learned maintain that 
this cannot be, as fluted pillars were never used to 
support the temple of a goddess — they were only 
allowed smooth columns ; but it is agreed that this 
shrine much resembles the temple of Antoninus 
and Faustina in Rome, and dates from the same 
period. The long roof of the archbishop's palace, 
sheltering a very interesting library, seems to connect 
the Temple with the Cathedral ; but a passing 
reflection, while it shows the former in all the 
serenity of its ancient worship, throws an ugly 
shadow on the latter — close by, half hidden by the 
flowering shrubs and peaceful palm trees of a pretty 
garden, stands the Palace of the Inquisitions. It 
is now a private house, but the chapel, the hall 
where that sinister body held its court, and the 
dungeons, remain. The Holy Office at Evora con- 
demned to death no less than 20,000 men and 
women. 

Of other events which added to Evora's historic 
importance mention should be made of several 
meetings of the Cortes here. Dom Duarte assembled 
it here in order to raise funds for the ill-fated 
expedition to Tangiers ; the Cortes met again in 
1 48 1 and 1490 under Dom Joao II. The former 
meeting preceded his struggle with unruly nobles ; 



Evora 299 

the latter approved the match between Dom Affonso 
and Isabella, daughter of the King of Spain. By 
this alliance Dom Joao hoped to join the sceptres 
of both countries in the hands of his son, but AfFonso 
died before his father. Dom Manoel I. carried on 
the tradition — he also failed ; and when by the death 
of Cardinal Dom Henrique, who installed the Jesuits 
in Evora, the house of Aviz died out and a Spaniard 
ruled over both countries, the people of Portugal, 
of Evora in particular, became thoroughly dissatisfied. 
The city took the first step in the insurrection which 
freed Portugal from Spain in the seventeenth century, 
and suffered accordingly, for Don Juan of Austria 
subjected the town anew in 1658 ; and not till the 
victory of Ameixoeira in 1663 did Evora become 
Portuguese again. Serious trouble came up out of 
Spain when in 1808 Loizon stormed Evora, after 
meeting with desperate resistance, and then left it to 
the mercies of a victorious French army. The last 
of troubled times came with the strife between Dom 
Pedro and Dom Miguel, the rival sons of weak 
King John VI., with whose Queen, Carlota Joaquina, 
and some of her little peculiarities, we are familiar. 
After much useless fighting the struggle ended, and 
Dom Miguel left Portugal after signing what is 
called the Treaty of Evoramonte. 

Evoramonte is not far from Evora, and is of 
peculiar interest. It is a huge old castle, standing 



300 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

on a hill, the crumbling walls containing only a few 
houses of what was once a flourishing little town. 
An inscription over the main gate says that the 
castle was built by the order of the most noble 
Senhor, Dom Diniz, King of Portugal and the 
Algarve, given on the 14th day of January, 1344, 
by which time that excellent monarch had been 
buried some nineteen years. The slight inaccuracy 
of the inscription in no way detracts from the stately 
beauty of ruined Evoramonte. Little whitewashed 
houses cluster round the old keep, which is of 
massive strength despite its age and varied experi- 
ences, and shows, moreover, some traces of genial 
ornamentation here and there. The vaulted interior 
of the keep is particularly interesting, with its squat 
fluted pillars, and glimpses of the glorious panorama 
through narrow windows. From the Porta do Sol, 
so called because the rising sun first sheds its rays 
through this gate before searching out the many 
nooks and crannies of this ruined pile, a grand 
view lies at your feet. Far away to eastward is 
Estremoz, commanded by the tower of Affonso III., 
and the palace where King Denis lived, and in 
which the sainted Isabel, his wife, died in 1336. 

Farther to eastward, in the valley beyond the 
heights on which stands Estremoz, flows the River 
Borba, through vineyards, past marble quarries, to 
join the Guadiana. 



Villa Vi$osa 303 

Close by Borba, and some distance from the little 
river of that name, is yet another ancient township, 
enclosed by walls, Villa Vigosa. A royal palace 
stands here neglected, the property of the House 
of Braganga since it was built in 1501. Here that 
gallant King Dom Carlos and his eldest son Dom Luiz 
Filipe slept, after a day's shooting in the neighbour- 
ing forests, on the night of January 31st, 1908. By 
evening of the next day they had been foully 
murdered in Lisbon, the capital of the kingdom. 



CHAPTER XII 



I ME flies fast during a holiday, especially in 



Portugal, with its manifold interests, and the 
end of the holiday comes as a painful surprise in 
this land of leisure. It came, and the Holiday-maker 
had to pack up his painting-things and prepare for 
departure. The route lay to northward, and there 
were yet many places of interest to visit, so the 
Holiday-maker again left the Rocio Station one 
afternoon. The train was a pleasant change from 
the ordinary ones — it ran smoothly, stopped seldom, 
and carried a dining-car ; but then this was really 
an express, and in the habit of carrying on the 
important communications between Portugal's only 
large towns, Lisbon and Oporto. The line ran 
through country already visited, for a while, along 
the Tagus as far as Entroncamento, then sharply 
to northward past Payalvo, the station for Thomar. 

Night closed in upon the mountainous country 
of Estramadura and hid from sight the little town 
of Pombal with its castle, full of memories of one of 
Portugal's greatest men. Sebastiao Jose Carvalho 




The Marquis of Pombal 305 

e Mello, Count of Peyras, Marquis of Pombal, 
born in Lisbon on May 13th, 1699, spent his last 
years, an exile from the Court, in Pombal. He 
studied at Coimbra, whither we are now bent, and 
after a term of service in the Bodyguard was his 
King's envoy to London, then to Vienna. His 
statesmanship won him golden opinions, and he 
became imbued with the spirit of progress, thanks 
to his contact with other, better-ordered countries. 
When King John V. died, in 1750, the Marquis 
of Pombal entered the Ministry of the young King, 
Joseph I., over whom he gained enormous influence 
through his ability and imposing personality. His 
King's favour enabled him to inaugurate many 
reforms necessary to his retrograde country ; he 
ordered its finances and swept away many mal- 
practices, agriculture and commerce revived under 
his sway, but his chief endeavours were directed 
towards freeing the people of Portugal from the 
oppression of the Church and the nobility. His 
name is best remembered in connection with the 
extraordinary energy and resourcefulness displayed 
after Lisbon had been devastated by the earthquake 
of 1755. His untiring efforts to alleviate the awful 
distress caused by that catastrophe brought him 
high honours from his King, and, better still, the 
lasting gratitude of the people of Lisbon. 

It was to be expected that a strong man, such 



306 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

as the Marquis of Pombal was, would have many- 
enemies ; they were mostly secret ones, and came 
from among the higher nobility and the priesthood, 
whose intrigues he met with vigorous measures — for 
instance, by a royal decree expelling the Jesuits 
from Portugal, after an attempt on the King's life. 

But King Joseph I. died before his great Prime 
Minister, and left the reins of government in the 
hands of Maria I. The new sovereign, under the 
domination of the clergy, drove the Marquis of 
Pombal from his high office, even declared him 
worthy of punishment, and exiled him from the 
Court and from public life. So the great statesman 
retired to his castle at Pombal, dating back to the 
days of Gualdim Paes, they say, and died there in 
May 1782. 

The statue in Black Horse Square, ostensibly 
erected to the memory of King Joseph I., really 
commemorates the deeds of his great Prime Minister. 
Of the work done by the Marquis of Pombal much 
has been since undone : the Jesuits he banished re- 
turned to Portugal and have only recently been again 
expelled ; the effects of his educational system have 
faded away, two-thirds of the people are illiterate ; 
the finances of Portugal have for generations been 
falling into ever greater disorder, and no improve- 
ment has come with the new order of things — nor is it 
likely unless the country produces one strong man, 



Coimbra 307 

like Pombal. Some say that Portugal has done so, 
that the last Minister of Dom Carlos was such a 
man. But he fell a victim to Jesuit intrigues, as 
did Pombal, and must now look on, from exile, at 
the disordered state of his country. 

Coimbra does not lie on the main line to the 
north ; you are obliged to change on to a side line 
which runs round the town in a wide curve, to a 
small station on the right bank of the River Mondego. 
This rather annoying arrangement must surely inter- 
fere with the development of Coimbra, at least to some 
extent, and the hotel accommodation leaves much to 
be desired. It is a pity, for Coimbra is a singularly 
beautiful town, and full of romantic interest. A 
broad, slow-flowing river, the Mondego, lingers here, 
where the houses of Coimbra rise up on the slopes of 
a 'hill, crowned by the building of the ancient uni- 
versity. The Mondego comes down from the Serra 
da Estrella, on its winding way to the sea, and enters 
a broader valley just above Coimbra ; here it expands 
and flows more gently between vine-clad hills, or 
groves of olives. The Mondego is the Lovers' river ; 
it inspired so many of those tender lays sung by 
the people of Portugal ; in the shady groves by its 
banks, generations of Lusitanian poets have poured 
forth their soul in praise of Love and the Lovers' 
river. Some of these singers died unknown but 
left their songs in the heart of the people. Others 
16 



308 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

lived their day and became famous, enriching the 
literature of Portugal. Camoes and Antonio Ferreira, 
Garrett and Castilho, Anthero de Quental, Joao de 
Deus, Antonio Nobre and others, lived and loved, 
and sang of their love to the whispering reeds, in 
the glades, by the banks of Mondego. They lay 
under the spell which legend and history have cast 
upon ancient Coimbra. Descendants of Celts who 
first built here, they were informed by the spirit 
of that race of mystics ; the blood of warrior Goths, 
strong in the Faith, accounts for the boldness of 
their utterance, their language with its sonorous 
rhythm, an heritage of Romans, polished by the 
Moors' aesthetic taste. 

The history of Coimbra emerged from the mists 
of earliest days, when Moors and Christians fought 
for supremacy, and Coimbra was subject to one or 
the other from the day when Dom Affonso the Great, 
King of Leon, temporarily gained it, until Dom 
Affonso VI. of Leon definitely conquered it in 1085, 
and gave it its first charter. Then Coimbra was 
given to the Count of Burgundy and became for 
many years the outpost of the country of Portugal 
against the Moors. Many Kings of Portugal were 
born here, many lie buried here, scions of the House 
of Burgundy. So Dom Affonso Henriques and 
Sancho I. rest in the church of Santa Cruz, with 
its fine Gothic Chancel, and paintings in the nave 



Coimbra 309 

attributed to Grao Vasco. There was a " Trans- 
figuration " by Raphael, and an " Adoration " by 
Rubens here, but the French stole these pictures 
in 1810. 

The old cathedral, the finest specimen of 
romanesque architecture in the country, stands out 
sternly like an ancient stronghold, and so it was ; a 
stronghold of the Faith, begun in the twelfth century, 
while Cross and Crescent were struggling for the 
mastery within earshot of the deep-toned bells. A 
sarcophagus stands out of the wall to the right of 
the main entrance ; here lies D. Sisenando, first 
governor of Coimbra after its conquest from the 
Moors in 1066. Dom Joao I. was crowned in this 
cathedral, after the Cortes held at Coimbra had 
proclaimed him King in 1335. But now the old 
cathedral stands deserted since the Marquis of 
Pombal drove out the Jesuits, and their church, a 
peculiarly ugly building, usurped its functions. 

Coimbra has other memories of Kings and their 
doings. The wife of Dom Diniz, Isabel of Aragon, 
called the Saint, lived here and comforted the poor. 
Here it was that her husband caught her distributing 
alms to a number of mendicants — against his express 
wish, it appears. He asked her what she carried in 
her basket ; she answered " Roses," which was strictly 
untrue. However, by a kindly miracle the coins had 
been changed into roses, and the story served as an 



310 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

additional reason for her canonisation. Queen Isabel 
founded the convent of Santa Clara, down on the 
left bank of the river ; she was buried there, but 
the floods so damaged the ancient building that the 
convent had to be moved to a neighbouring height, 
whither St. Isabel's tomb was also conveyed with 
all due pomp and ceremony. 

St. Isabel of Portugal still commands the reverence 
of the people of Coimbra (unless the Republic has 
decreed that it should cease), but another lady's 
memory has yet a stronger hold on popular fancy. 

The grandson of the sainted Isabel, Pedro, after- 
wards first King of that name, loved a fair lady, 
Dona Ignez de Castro — loved her with all the 
force of his passionate nature — and Dona Ignez 
loved him too. Dona Ignez had come from Spain 
in the train of Dom Pedro's wife, Dona Con- 
stancy, daughter of the Duke of Penafiel. Dona 
Constanga died, leaving two children, and Dom 
Pedro was minded to marry Dona Ignez. Dom 
Affonso IV., the King, Dom Pedro's father, objected 
strongly to this match, but was quite unable to stem 
the tide of passion. The lovers were wont to meet 
in the garden of a house not far from the convent 
of Santa Clara, the Quinta das Lagrimas (" of tears "), 
where is the Fountain of Love, fed by a little 
stream which is said to have carried Dom Pedro's 
love-letters to Dona Ignez. The lady sat by the 



Coimbra 313 

fountain in the shade of the cedars and orange trees 
and watched the small stream for some token from 
her royal lover. But there came into this lovers' 
paradise stealthy assassins, who killed gentle Ignez 
by the King's command. 

Then a heavy cloud settled on the brow of Dom 
Pedro and never left it. Men called him " the 
Cruel " when he succeeded to his father, and he 
deserved the epithet. As soon as he ascended the 
throne he took terrible vengeance on the murderers 
of Dona Ignez. He had them brought before him 
bound, cut them open with his own hand, tore out 
the heart of each one and bit into it savagely. 
Then he had Dona Ignez exhumed and placed 
upon the throne, before which his courtiers were 
commanded to pay homage, kissing the dead hand. 
Even then this sombre king's passion for revenge 
was not sated ; he travelled throughout his country 
administering stern justice, executing malefactors with 
his own hand. 

We have seen the tombs at Alcobaga, where 
Dom Pedro I. and Ignez de Castro are waiting to 
look into each other's eyes " when the trumpet 
shall sound." 

Coimbra is now the centre of Portugal's intellec- 
tual life, or so it considers itself, and possibly for 
sufficient reasons. It boasts an ancient seat of 
learning, established by King Denis in 1290, and 



314 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

there Portugal's great statesmen, historians, poets, 
were trained for their divers missions in life. An 
electric tramway leads from the Largo Principe 
Dom Carlos (now possibly called after some hero of 
the recent revolution), round the hill against which 
the city is built, and rises gently towards the summit. 
But a shorter, though steeper, way leads under the 
Arco d'Almeidina, a relic of Moorish days, through 
narrow streets with quaint old-world houses, to the 
university buildings. These buildings surround a 
large square, entered by the Porta Ferrea, dating 
from the days of the Spanish dominion over Por- 
tugal. The buildings are of no great interest, but 
the library, a temple-like building with fine wood- 
carving, is well worthy of closer attention. Here 
are volumes, manuscripts, parchments, containing 
the wisdom of former generations in crabbed hand- 
writing or lustrous illumination. All these have no 
doubt contributed largely to the erudition of those 
sons of Lusitania who came here to become learned. 
There are many books, more modest and business- 
like in appearance, which the youth of Portugal 
now turns to in order to qualify for the battle of 
life, or perhaps merely to swell the ranks of an 
intellectual proletariat. 

Nowadays Mephistopheles does not come up to 
advise young students as to which of the many 
faculties they should devote themselves to. He did 



Coimbra 315 

so once, according to Goethe, and may have done 
so again, but the Republic has no doubt abolished 
Mephistopheles (though he has not been expressly 
mentioned in the law concerning the separation of 
Church and State), yet the number of law students 
has not diminished. The faculty of medicine is 
increasing, and their laboratories and other excellent 
arrangements for the pursuit of the science of heal- 
ing should turn out useful medical men, under the 
tuition of an able staff, for the Republic has not yet 
abolished any disease — not even megalomania. 

The professors of different branches of learning 
are distinguished, when in full dress, by the difterent 
colours of a " panache " which crowns the silk 
bonnet worn on State occasions. These colours are 
well chosen ; what is more suited to theology than 
white, for instance, or for philosophy, blue, the 
colour of hope ? — for even a philosopher should hope 
that his speculations may lead to some result. The 
students go bareheaded and wear a black gown, 
much like that of their colleagues of Oxford and 
Cambridge, though not so short. 

Perhaps it is the gown which here and there 
leads to trouble with the townsfolk ; a regular 
" town-and-gown row" is no unusual occurrence at 
Coimbra, and both parties thoroughly enjoy this form 
of relaxation. A student of law imparted to the 
Holiday-maker the real, original reason for the enmity 



316 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

between the two factions ; it appears that the 
students find favour in the sight of the fair ladies of 
Coimbra, leaving even the military element a "poor 
second," and so the flashing of " beaux yeux " dis- 
turbed the peace of the city for many centuries. 
Of late politics have added fuel to the flames, and 
recent events have given rise to serious disagreement 
between " Town and Gown." It appears, from the 
students' point of view, that the Minister of the 
Interior, elected by the Republican Party at Lisbon, 
had promised to institute a Faculty of Law in the 
country's capital. This was greeted with great 
rejoicings by the students, many of whom welcomed 
a chance of spending some pleasant years in Lisbon. 
The students formed a Republican association among 
themselves, and elected the Minister as honorary 
member of the committee. The town looked with 
disfavour on a scheme which would remove so many 
students, and thus bring economic loss. "This was 
brought to the notice of the Minister, who promptly 
changed his mind, and declared to the Coimbra 
Chamber of Commerce that he would never consent 
to the measure with which the university had 
credited him. This led to considerable rioting, with 
interference by the military. The students' Repub- 
lican association met in noisy conference, and erased 
the Minister's name from the roll of members ; they 
also disbanded the volunteer battalion, formed, like 



Coimbra 317 

others in Republican centres, directly after the 
revolution. It is difficult to gauge the value of 
these armed bands ; they do not fit into any 
strategical scheme for the defence of Portugal, and 
as tactical units they would be rather a hindrance 
to the regular troops, owing to their lack of train- 
ing. But they are very patriotic, and wave red-and- 
green flags to the accompaniment of the new 
National Anthem ; they also wear uniform on Sundays, 
to their own great satisfaction. 

It is only charitable to suppose that the action of 
this academic Republican association was inspired 
only by a youthful " sporting instinct"; if it were 
otherwise, it would show in an unfavourable light 
a system of education which leads individuals and 
associations to place their own smaller interests before 
the wider ones of national considerations. 

Still the general aspect of Coimbra is one of 
academic repose as it broods over past days, days 
of serious trouble for the city when Massena's army 
marched through the streets, and the neighbouring 
wooded heights rang with musketry as the French 
pursued the fugitive citizens and shot them down. 
But even then Napoleon's power was breaking. 
From Coimbra a broad road leads north-east along a 
ridge of mountains to a place famous in history, 
Bussaco. The usual way to get there nowadays is 
by train to Pampilhosa, and thence, by a line that 



3i 8 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

leads into Spain, to Luso, the station for Bussaco. 
From Luso a broad road leads up into the mountains 
and through a gate into the forest of Bussaco. 
History has been busy here, in this favoured spot. 
Of course the Romans found it out and built a 
stronghold ; then, in the eighth century a small monas- 
tery arose on what is now the height of Cruz Alta. 
The monastery was frequently sacked by the Moors, 
according to their wont, and was finally established 
on its present site in 1268. In the meantime the 
forest, the Bosque Sacro, had grown up, sheltering 
the new monastic buildings ; it was enclosed by walls 
at an early date and, owing to its sacred character, met 
with much consideration. Two Popes, Gregory XV. 
in 1622, and Urban VIII. in 1645, issued a Bull 
excommunicating him who dared to harm a tree of 
the Sacred Forest. The trees of the forest grew up 
undisturbed and welcomed strangers of their kind 
from Portugal's over-seas dominions, so that now the 
forest shows the finest specimens of indigenous and 
exotic growth — oak and beech, pines and cork trees, 
and here and there groups of giant cedars. The 
Carmelites occupied the convent from the eighteenth 
century until the suppression of religious orders in 
1834, and they welcomed the, Duke of Wellington 
when he came to meet Massena in battle on " Bussaco's 
iron ridge." 

The old convent with its small cloisters, its still 



Bussaco 319 

smaller cells, in one of which Wellington passed that 
September night of 18 10, is now almost eclipsed by 
a palatial hotel, built in the best modern render- 
ing of the Manueline style, and decorated with azuleja 
by modern Portuguese artists, foremost amongst 
them Jorge Colago. As far as the Holiday-maker's 
experience goes, the hotel is the most comfort- 
able in all Portugal. It is a good place to be in 
amidst the glorious forest of Bussaco, but the stern 
country beyond the enclosing walls recalls the fierce 
strife which tortured unhappy Lusitania when the 
eagles of France passed this way. There is the 
rocky ridge where only gorse finds sufficient en- 
couragement to grow; there is the deep valley whence 
Massena's battalions surged up to break against 
the determined line of red-coated British infantry 
and Portuguese Cagadores in their brown uniforms. 
Recalling that 27th day of September, the heights 
and valleys seem uncannily peaceful. The Serra 
de Bussaco drops in a series of gentle hills, each 
showing a little more vegetation than its higher 
neighbour, down towards the sea, and the clouds 
which come up out of the west cast their shadow on 
the sides of the mountains, as they hurry to cling 
round the Serra da Estrella. 

The voice of the sea comes as a reminder that a 
holiday does not last for ever, and that big ships 



320 A Winter Holiday in Portugal 

do not wait for peripatetic artists. So the Holiday- 
maker had to hurry northwards, past Aveiro in midst 
of its marshes and dykes, back to Oporto, and then, 
by the river, down to the sea at Leixoes. 

Again the big ship 1 passes along the coast of 
Portugal, as if in a lingering farewell to Lusitania, 
to that lovely country, with its rocky coast, its forests 
and broad fields, mountains and plains, and above all 
its courteous, lovable people. 

The rugged coast-line vanishes, and the big ship 
ploughs up the waters of the Bay of Biscay, so 
frequently maligned — for though the Holiday-maker 
has often crossed it, he has only once seen it really 
rough. 

A few days more at sea, and the coast of England 
rises out of the sea — Land's End, and later, the Welsh 
mountains, and tucked away at their feet the new, 
busy harbour of Fishguard. 

Then the last, shortest, stage of the holiday — a 
fast special train which hurries at sixty miles an hour 
through lovely Welsh scenery, past busy towns, then 
across the broad fields of Western England, the 
pastures of Berkshire, crossing the Thames again and 
again until it draws up breathless at Paddington Station. 

Then the Holiday-maker returns to his seclusion ; 
but there remain with him memories of "green days 
in forests, and blue days at sea." 

1 See Index, Booth S.S. Co. 



INDEX 



Abou Jousouf, 169 

Affonso I., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1112-1185), 17, 40, 43, 63, 71, 
74, 105, 131, 132, 167, 190, 206, 
207, 214, 263, 290, 294, 308 

— II., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1211-1223), 210, 256 

— III., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1248-1269), 64, 105, 204, 210, 
211, 214, 264, 300 

— IV., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1325-1357), 72, 105, 211, 310 

V., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1438-1481), 135, 136, 137, 138, 
164, 185, 201, 219, 220 

— VI., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1656-1683), 118, 154, 157 

— de Portugal, Cardinal, 293 

— VI., King of Leon, 16, 40, 308 

— VI., King of Castile, 131, 167 
Africa, 106, 107, 134, 135, 137, 142, 

144, 152, 188, 205 
Alanni, 13, 60, 131 
Albuquerque, Affonso, Duke of, 70, 

i47> 164 

— Braz, his son, 70, 164 
Alcacer do Sal, 188, 254, 255, 256, 

273» 274 
Alcoa, river, 209, 211 
Alcobaca, 142, 177, 183, 206, 209, 

210, 212, 215, 313 
Alemtejo, 18, 154, 235, 256, 251, 

253, 264, 277, 282 
Alemquer, Duke of, 240 
Alfarrobeira, 138, 164 
Alfeite, 59, 230-235 
Alfonso XIII., King of Spain, 100 
Algarve, 18, 105, 188, 235, 264, 

277» 300 
Alhandra, 164 
Aljubarrota, 132 
Almada, 59, 225, 227 
Almanssor of Cordova, 44, 2 56, 264 
Almeida, Dom Francisco de, 144, 147 
Almourol, 188 
Alter, 85 

Alto de S. Joao, 94, 95 
Alverca. See Alfarrobeira 
Alvidrar, Pedra de, 128 
Alviella, river, 164 
Amelia, Dona, 90, 91, 242 
Amory, King of Jerusalem, 175 
Andeiro, Count of, 73, 133 
Antonio, Padre, 195, 196, 200 
Arabs, 63 

Arnoud, Abbey of St., 22 
Arrabida. See Serra d' 
Arrosa Bay, 27 
Asturias, 15, 16, 63 



Ataulpho, King of Goths, 263 
Austria, Don Juan of, 299 
Azambuja, 164 
Azeitao, 154, 239 

Baca, river, 209 

Bacalhoa, 239 

Badajoz, 167, 248 

Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, 177 

Barreiro, 59, 235, 236, 245, 277 

Barroso, Christovao, 149 

Bataca, 264-266, 273 

Batalha, 117, 215-222, 292 

Beatrize.daughter of Fernando I. , 105 

Beja, 289 

Belem, 49, 100, 102, no, 117, 226 
Belgrade, 53 
Bemfica, 161 
Beresford, Marshal, 157 
Boa Fe, 279-288 
Bocca do Inferno, 48, 126 
Booth S.S, Co. (noted for its ex- 
cellent service to Portugal), 46 
Borba, 298, 303 
Braganga, House of, 57, 303 

— Hotel, 54, 56-58 
Brazil, 101, 144, 161, 167 
Brites, Donna, 72, 211, 240 
Bugio, Torre do, 49 
Burgundy, Henry, Count of, 16, 40, 

131, 158, 188, 290, 308 
Bussaco, 317-319 
Byzant, 265 

Cabral, Pedro Alvares de, 144, 167 
Cabo Raso, 49 

Cacem, S. Thiago de, 188, 254- 

27 1 * 273, 274 
Cacilhas, 59, 225, 230-231 
Cadaval, Duke of, 154 
Caldas da Rainha, 203, 205 
Calicut, 84, 116 
Caminha, 30 

Camoes, Luiz de, 83, 108-12 1, 185, 
308 

Campolide, 161, 162 
Canary Islands, 106 
Cao, Diego, 107 
Cape, Espichel, 47, 48, 124 

— of Good Hope, 107, 116, 138, 184 

— Roca, 128 

— St. Vincent, 72, 107 
Carcavellos, 49 

Carlos, Dom, King of Portugal 
(1889-1908), 75, 90, 240, 303, 
307 

Carlota Joaquina, wife of Dom 

Joao VI., 160, 299 
Carthaginians, 14 



321 



322 



Index 



Casa Branca, 251, 277, 289 
Castello Melhor, Count of, 154 
Castillo, Juan de, 117 
Castilho, 308 

Castro, Dom Alvaro de, 127 

— Ignez de, 211, 310, 313 

— Joao de, 161 
Celts, 14, 131 
Ceuta, 107 

Charlemagne, 15, 16, 174, 175 
Charles V., German Emperor, 147- 
149 

China, 177, 228 

Cintra, 90, 91, 128-160, 188, 196 
Clement XI., Pope, 101 
Coburg, Prince Ferdinand of, 158 
Cochin, 115, 144 

Coimbra, 64, 105, 211, 266, 267, 

305. 307-3 1 7 
Colaco, Jorge, 90, 318 
Collares, 128 
Columbus, 148 

Comnenus, Isaac Angelus, 173, 175 
Constantine the Great, 173 
Contucci, Andrea, 240 
Cork Convent, 127, 150 
Costa, S. L. de Mendonza, 162 
Cyprus, 175, 179 

Degebe, 289 

Denis. See Diniz 

Deus, Joao de, 118, 308 

Dias, Bartholomeu, 84, 107, 138, 144 

Dinis (Dionysius), Dom, King of 
Portugal (1269-1325), 105, 132, 
164, 180, 183, 214, 248, 266, 289, 
300, 309 

Diocletian, 71 

Diu, 147 

Douro, river, 43 

Duarte (Edward), Dom, King of 
Portugal (1433-1438), 135, 143, 
183, 214, 219, 298, 313 

Duarte Pacheco, 144 

Edward, King of Portugal. See 
Duarte 

Edward VIL, Kingof GreatBritain, 
158 

Eleanor, wife of Dom Fernando I., 
231 

El Kasr-el-Kebir, 17, 152, 227 
Entroncamente, 167, 304 
Estoril, 49, 123, 226 
Estremadura, 18, 304 
Evora, 138, 255, 256, 289-299 
Evoramonte, 299, 300 

Faro, 289 



Felicita Julia, 60 

Ferdinand and Isabel of Spain, 138 

Fernandez, Mattheu, 216 

Fernando I., Dom, King of Portu- 
gal (1367-1383), 64, 73, 105, 133, 
214, 261 

— Duke of Vizeu, 135, 143, 240 
Fernao, Pires de Andrade, 147 
Ferreira, Antonio, 308 
Fielding, 59 

Francis I. of France, 148, 149 
Fruela I., King of Oviedo, 63 
Fuas, Dom Roupinho, 205 
Furtado, Affonso, 134 

Gama, Estevao da, 109 

— Vasco da, 49, 84, 107, 109-121, 
123, 138, 144, 150, 184, 221, 271, 
273 

Garrett, Almeida, 226, 308 
Gaunt, John of, 106, 132, 216 
Geraldo, " Sem Pavor," 290, 291, 

294 
Goa, 84, 150 
Goncalo, Travassos, 216 
Goncalves, Martin de Macado, 216 

— Nunez, 75 
Grandola, 254-256, 274 
Guadiana, river, 264, 289, 300 
Guardalete, 263 
Guimaraes, 16, 40, 43, 188 
Guinea, 84 

Hallidei, John, 174 
Harfleur, 22 

Harold, King of England, 22 
Havre, 21 

Henriques. See Affonso I. 

— Dom (Henry the Navigator), 
105-108, 117, 118, 137, 153, 184, 
219, 221 

— Cardinal, 164, 185, 209, 299 
Henry VIII., King of England, 148 
Herculano, Alessandro, 118 
Honrleur, 22 

Ignez de Castro. See Castro 
India, 84, 112, 115, 117, 127, 138, 

144, 150, 153, 228, 292 
Irene, Saint, 167, 169 
Isabella, wife of Dom Manoel I., 

I47» *49 

Dom Affonso V., 136, 137, 

202, 219 

Dom Diniz, 132, 265, 300, 

3°9» 3 10 

Joanna of Castile, 137 

Joao d'Andeiro. See Andeiro 

— de Deus. See Deus 



Index 



323 



Joao I., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1383-1433), 72, 105, 106, 132- 
J 35> I 43> io 4> 201, 215, 216, 221, 
267, 292, 309 

— II., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1481-1495), 107, 108, 137, 142, 
143, 219, 298, 299 

— III., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1521-1557), 64, 118, 149, 152, 
186, 203, 220 

— IV., Dom, King of Portugal, 
(1640-1656), 17, 153 

— V., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1706-1750), 75, 100, 101,157,305 

— VI., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1816-1826), 161, 299 

John I. of Castile, 105, 215 

Jose I., Dom, King of Portugal 

(1750-1777), 66, 157, 305, 306 
Juliao, Torre de S., 49, 123 
Junot, 196 

Kambing, 84 
Katherine, Queen, 118 
Kilwa, 147 

Knights Templars, 164, 169, 170, 
175-180 

Lake, Colonel, 196 

Lancaster, Philippa of, 106, 132, 

133, 216 
Leinster, Earl of, 125 
Leiria, 212-215 
Leixoes, 43, 320 
Leo X., Pope, 148, 157, 189 
Leobriga, 40 

Leonor, Donna, of Aragon, 135, 136 

— Telles, wife of Dom Fernando 

I.. 73, 133 
Leonor, niece of Emperor 
Charles V., 147, 149 

— wife of Dom Joao II. , 142 
Leon, kingdom of, 16, 44 
Leovegilde, King, 15, 71 
Lima, river, 33, 34 

Lisbon, 44, 46, 47, 50, 55, 60, 63- 
65, 70, 72, 75, 76, 80-99, 131, 
135, 160, 161, 164, 225, 228-231, 
242, 251, 303-305 

Liz, Hotel, 212 

— river, 212 

Louis XIV. of France, 101 
Luchena, 248 

Luiza, daughter of Dom Pedro II., 
154 

Luiz Filipe, Dom, 75, 303 
Luther, 148 
Luzia, Santa, 33, 39 
Luzignan, Guy de, 176 



Macao, 84 
Macas, Bay of, 128 
Madeira, 106 
Mafra, 157 
Magelhan, 148 
Malacca, 147 

Malhao, Francisco Raphael de, 202 
Manoel L, Dom, King of Portugal 
( I 495-i52i), 49, 69, 70, 73, 108, 
109, 117, 118, 145-149, I53» 159, 
170, 184, 221, 292, 293, 299 

— II., Dom, King of Potrugal 
(1908-1910), 106, 125, 158, 240 

Maria I., Queen of Portugal (1777- 
1816), 306 

— II., da Gloria, Queen of Portu- 
gal (1826-1853), 158, 210 

— Sophia, of Neuburg, 101 

— de Menezes, Condessa de Monte 
Santo, 142 

Massena, 190, 210, 318, 319 
Merobriga, 258-262 
Minho, river, 30 
Mombasa, 177 

Mondego, river, 211, 307, 308 
Monez, Martin, 74 
Monserrate, Viscount, 158 
Montemor, 109, 188, 248, 255 
Morocco, 17, 64, 125, 169, 226 
Moronha, Dom Fernando Alvares, 

I5L 152 
Mozambique, 84, 117 
Muniz, Antonio, 201 
Musa-ben-Nosseir, 263 

Nabao, river, 167-169 
Napoleon, 18 
Nazareth, 205, 206 
Nemours, Marie de, 154 
Nicolas V., Pope, 136 
Nobre, Antonio, 308 

Obidos, 188, 189, 193-205, 212, 215 
Obidos, Josepha de, 202 
Olivaes, 163 

Oporto, 16, 37, 43, 44, 76, 188, 304, 
320 

Order of Aviz, 73, 105, 210, 294-297 

— of Christ, 105, 107, 109, 117, 
183-185 

— of St. Jago, 135, 247, 248, 264 
Ordonho III., King of Leon, 63 
Ovar, 55, 188 

Oviedo, King of, 63 

Paes, Gualdim, 132, 169, 306 
Palmella, 59, 188, 245-253, 277 
Pampilhosa, 317 
Paraizo, 164 



324 



Index 



Payalvo, 167, 304 
Pedro, Duke of Coimbra, 134-136, 
138, 164 

— I., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1357-1367), 73, 105, 2ii, 227 
310, 313 

— II., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1683-1703), 154, 157 

— III., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1777-1798) 

— IV., Dom, King of Portugal 
and (I.) Emperor of Brazil (1826- 
1834), 161 

— V., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1853-1891), 75, 231 

Pena Palace, 144, 149, 153, 226 
Penafiel, Duke of, 310 
Pena Ventosa, 44 
Philip I., Dom, King of Portugal, II. 
of Spain (1581-1598), 17, 75, 152 

— II., Dom, King of Portugal, III. 
of Spain (1598-1621), 102 

— III., Dom, King of Portugal, 
IV. of Spain (1621-1640) 

Phoenicians, 14, 60, 256 

Pinhal Novo, 245, 254 

Pinheiro, Columbano Bordallo, 90 

Pliny the Younger, 40, 256, 258 

Queluz-Bellas, 160 
Quental, Anthero de, 308 

Rameiro, King of Galicia, 246 

Real, river, 190 

Reis, Carlos, 90 

Recarede, King, 15, 71 

Rezende, 261, 265, 266 

Ribeiro, Bernadino, 151 

Richard I., King of England, 175, 

176, 179 
Rodrigo de Menezes, 101 
Rodrigues de Vasconcellos, 292 
Rolica, 196, 199 

Romans, 11, 60, 131, 289, 293, 308 
Roncesvalles, 15 
Rouen, 24 
Roumania, 53 
Russia, 53 

Sabugosa, Count, 91 
Sado, river, 241, 251, 255 
Sagres, 107 

Saldanha, Marshal, 190 
Sancho, Dom, King of Portugal 
(1185-1211), 164, 214,264,294,308 

— II., Dom, King of Portugal 
(1223-1245), 204 

Sansovino, 240 

Santarem, 167, 209 

S. Thiago de Cacem. See Cacem 



Sebastian, Sebastiao, Dom, King of 
Portugal (1557-1578), 17, 64, 91, 
125, 150-152, 164, 226, 227 

Seixal, 231 

Seneca, 40 

Serra d'Arrabida, 236, 240, 251 

— de Bussaco, 319 

— de Cintra, 47, 49, 125, 127, 152, 
226, 257 

— da Estrella, 307, 319 
Servia, 53 

Seti Aix, 158 

Setubal, 143, 239, 241, 242, 245, 



Sines, 239, 254, 268-274 
Sisenando, Duke of, 309 
Sociedade Propaganda de Portu- 
gal, 162 
Sofala, 147 

Suevi, 15, 44, 63, 131 

Tagus, Tejo, 46, 47, 49, 122, 154, 
164, 167, 225, 226, 235, 251, 304 

Tangiers, 298 

Taypas, 84 

Terceira, island, 154 

Theresa, wife of Count Henry of 
Burgundy, 15, 40 

— wife of Dom Pedro VI., 75 

Thomar, 162, 167-186, 189, 304 

Timor, 84 

Torquemada, 141 

Torres Vedras, 189, 190, 202 

Troia, 242 

Troy, 45 

Turkey, 53, 141 

Ulysses, 45-48, 60, 115 
Urraca, 211 

Vallado, 212 
Varina, 55 

Vasco da Gama. See Gama 
Vasco, Grao, 309 
Vauban, 295 
Vendes Novas, 277 
Venice, 142 

Vianna do Castello, 33, 34, 37, 39 
Vigo, 28, 29 

Villa Franca de Xira, 164 
Villa Vicosa, 298, 303 
Vimeiro, 196 
Visigoths, 15 

Wellington, Duke of, 190, 318, 319 
William, Duke of Normandy, 22 
William II., German Emperor, 100 

Xavier, Francis de, 148 
Yussuf Abu Yacub, 264 



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